War Girl
by LittleMissLiblob
Summary: When Ellen joins the nurses at a Casualty Clearing Station outside of Ypres, she could never have imagined the loss of human life she would see. However, she finds herself accepted into the Station's family and under the gaze of the mysterious Dr John Smith but her emotional endurance is tested when her brother goes missing in action. Can Ellen survive? (Yes I know awful summary)!
1. Chapter 1

**I'm publishing my first ever fanfiction and to be honest, I'm terrified! It's mainly based on all the books/stories that I have read about the First World War and obviously Doctor Who as it's one of my favourite shows (I can never pick). As it's the centenary of the First World War I thought I would write about it – the nurses and doctors treating the men on the front line at Casualty Clearing Stations saved thousands of lives and I think that needs to be recognised. Anyway, I'm stalling, please enjoy!**

Ellen burst out of the Medical Hut, gulping cool, fresh air. She fell back against the wall, trying to steady her breathing. The soldier's warm, fresh blood was starting to congeal on her hands; she could hear his screams, cries of agony, calling for death, and then the silence as his breathing stopped. Ellen slid down against the freezing concrete wall of the bunker and buried her head in her hands, trying to stop the tears that were collecting in her eyes. 'Yorkshire Light Infantry' – that was the division, she was certain of that. Could he be there, in the hut? Or was he dead or dying in No Man's Land? She took another shaky breath. After the first battle in Liege, she could remember the agonised shriek of the Mother of the post-boy as she read the letter telling her, her son had been killed in action. Almost all the men in the village were dead now. They were gone, and there wasn't even a grave in the village cemetery to show that they had passed on. Ellen would not have been surprised if he had been taken by the Grim Reaper too.

She looked up towards the battle field and the British trenches. She could see bursts of light from the artillery guns and could hear the deafening noise of the shells hitting the ground and blasting open in No Man's Land. Bodies were not coming anymore but the British still seemed to be adamant that they wanted to give the Germans hell. Ellen took another breath.

"Nurse Stoker?"

Ellen looked up. She could see a man silhouetted in the light coming from the Medical Hut. Tall, lean and gangling with dark brown hair that fell over one size of his face in an exaggerated quiff.

"Dr Smith," she replied.

"Are you alright? Dr Miller said you looked frightfully upset," he said, with a touch of concern in his voice.

"Just about, sir. My shift finished and I felt overwhelmed, I needed some air," Ellen muttered, fiddling the watch pinned onto her uniform.

Dr Smith nodded, he turned to go back into hut but hesitated, turned back again and walked over to Ellen and offered her his hand.

"Can I help you up?"

Ellen took it and he pulled her up. "Thanks."

"Why were you upset?" asked Dr Smith, letting go of her hand.

"It was just the pressure of the day. Seeing all those young men dead, it reminded me of all the men that have died in my village."

"It upsets us all, but you're usually so calm under pressure!"

"I know-,"

"So what's wrong? I'm only asking because we need everyone to be focused – we need to be a team if we're going to save lives," he explained, a compelling look in his eyes. Ellen hesitated.

"The Yorkshire Light Infantry is my brother's regiment," whispered Ellen.

"Oh I see," he muttered. "Get some rest. What's his name?"

"Why?"

"That's an interesting name! Why Stoker I presume?"

"No," giggled Ellen. "His name is Jonas. Private Jonas Stoker."

"Private Jonas Stoker," Dr Smith confirmed. There was a pause. "Well, I'd better get back now – break's over! Remember, get some rest."

He spun around with the intention of going back onto the ward.

"Wait!" called Ellen. "Why do you need my bothers name?"

He looked at her. "How else would I find out if he's here or not?"

He turned and strode purposefully back into the Medical Hut. Ellen still stood in the chilly winter light, looking after him. Her breathing was still shaky but she felt a sense of relief knowing that someone was looking out for her brother, finally she was starting to make friends here. Ellen usually kept herself to herself when she went somewhere new, but she knew ultimately that was not an option here. She needed the doctors and other nurses to trust her, so that meant opening up, no matter how hard that was. Ellen did not usually see Dr Smith – he scared her with his brisk and clumsy manner, how he became a doctor she had no idea – one tea break in the Staff Room with Clara had shown her that he could break anything with his gangling limbs.

BOOM! Another shell from an artillery gun exploded in No Man's Land, Ellen could just about see the flash of light from over the hill. Like the snap of a twig startling a deer, Ellen scurried away to the Nurse's Quarters.

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><p>Dr John Smith wiped his brow as his last patient was taken away from the operating table. This had been the worst battle by far – ten had died on the table, as well as many more outside that were waiting to be seen. At least he was not one of the butcher Generals, ordering the troops to their deaths by the awful tactics they set out. Climb over the top of the parapet and run into a hailstorm of bullets and artillery shells were essentially the orders that had been given<em>. I'm a doctor<em>, thought John solemnly, _so why do I feel as if I'm making things worse?_ Being a pacifist, he had not signed up when the Army had come to his village to recruit soldiers, unlike all the other men his age. His qualifications as a doctor had allowed him to serve as a medic, without the dishonour of being branded a coward.

The conditions in the Casualty Clearing Stations were almost as bad as the trenches. Bodies littered the courtyard and he could hear the wounded moaning and calling out in agony. Carbolic acid stung the back of his eyes and his throat, but at least it killed the germs that sent most soldiers to their graves. John pulled off his bloody operating gown and then the rubber gloves that were stained red by his patient's blood.

"Are we all done?" John wearily asked the nurse, who was refilling the chloroform inhaler.

"Yes Dr, we haven't had any more in, in the last half an hour," she replied, putting the inhaler back on the shelf.

"Good, I didn't think I'd be able to cope if we had any more. It's gut-wrenching seeing all these dead and dying men – some of them are practically boys!"

The nurse nodded sadly. "I know Dr, it's a mercy I don't have any brothers myself. I'd spend too much of my time worrying about them if I did."

The mention of brothers flicked a switch in John's brain. "That reminds me! Was there a Private Jonas Stoker on our list?"

"No, I don't think so," she said, picking up the clipboard and checking it. "No. Why, is he important?"

John huffed, smiling. "Everyone is important, Clara! That's why I hate this God-forsaken war! One of the nurse's brothers was in one of the regiments that came in tonight. The Yorkshire Light Infantry."

"Oh poor thing! She must be worried sick!"

"I know," sighed John. "I just hope he made it. Remind me to check on her tomorrow – she's only been here a couple of months."

"I know who you mean! Little Ellen Stoker – from Yorkshire."

John nodded. "Yes, anyway I think we'd better get some rest. See you tomorrow Clara."

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><p>John stopped by the Staff Room to grab a biscuit which he hid in his pocket as he stepped onto the Ward. It was dimly lit with flickering electric lights that hung from the ceiling and buzzed as vibrations from the artillery shells shook the foundations of the Clearing Station. The whole bunker was a long concrete rectangle with beds that lined the walls as far as the eye could see. It always seemed to be in a state of half-darkness as the groans of the injured bounced off of the walls, resonating with the most venerable part of John's brain. <em>Just stop this war<em>, he thought, _eradicate the idiotic politicians that have caused all of this! _Slowly and quietly he went along the beds, checking the labels that were tied to the men's uniforms that told the nurses and doctors who they were, what their regiment was and what kind of wound they had. Usually it was obvious to see who had what injuries and if they would survive to see their families again.

"Dr Smith," came a whispered voice.

He looked up from one of the men he was checking to see Dr Song who was also moving along the line of beds.

"Dr Song?" he enquired as she came closer.

"Yes, looking for someone?"

"Yes, what about you?"

"Just checking everyone is a comfortable as possible," Dr Song replied, surveying the lines of iron framed beds.

John looked over Dr Song. A woman doctor. It was not a first – Elizabeth Garret-Anderson had proved that but still, having women this close to the battle field had raised many questions in Parliament and from the public but since he had been serving in the Clearing Station he could see that women were just as strong as men. They had a touch that seemed to sooth the men when they came in covered in blood, mud and bits of shrapnel, _they must be reminded of their mothers and sisters_, mused John, _I certainly am reminded of David's daughter – where is he now? _John looked at Dr Song again – her tightly wound, dark blonde, corkscrew hair was contained underneath a head-scarf, her bright intelligent brown eyes watched the men in their beds yet her operating apron was still on and covered in dark brown stains of dried blood.

"You never told me who you were looking for," Dr Song said, airily.

"What? Oh yes," stammered John. "I'm looking for a brother of one of the nurses – his regiment came in tonight."

"Ah, I see. She must be special if you're running errands for her… Or are you going to tell me everyone is special?"

"In their own ways yes everyone is special! But she's also new."

"The little Yorkshire girl I presume?"

"Yes… Why does everyone know about her?"

"She keeps herself to herself, doesn't talk to anyone unless she needs to – she's like a mouse but seems to be so calm under pressure. A bit like you to be honest. You keep yourself away from the nurses," shrugged River.

"That's because they remind me of Jenny."

"Who?"

"My niece. She's loud and boisterous like Clara and the others, and I don't like to think about my brother David that much – he could be dead on the battle field for all I know!"

"Family problems? You would be up all night listening to my list of them!"

John gave a weary sigh. "Listen Dr Song, I'd love to hear the list but I'm very tired and need to go to sleep now. Good night."

"Alright but please start calling me River when you're off duty – you can make friends with me."

"Fine. Good night River," he muttered, turning and walking away.

"Good night, John," she called, softly after him.

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><p><strong>Tah da! First chapter EVER! I hope you enjoyed it. If you did, please follow, review or favourite and read the next few because that would make me very happy! Plus, I will virtually hug and high-five you! Constructive criticism is very welcome but hate is not.<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello again! Thank you very much for reading my story! This one may seem a little slower but I think it needs to be to pace the story well. If you disagree, please let me know in the reviews.**

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><p>Ellen awoke to the sound her alarm clock ringing shrilly in her ears. Forcing her eyes open, she could see the sun had not yet risen and the room was in a state of murky darkness. It was almost as bad as getting up for school in the winter.<p>

"Turn that infernal thing off!" called an annoyed, muffled voice from across the room.

Ellen dragged her arm out from underneath the covers and dumped her had on top of the switch that turned off the alarm. The harsh ringing stopped but Ellen's ears would not. _The damn shells, _she thought, _I'll have to put up with this all day!_ Realizing she would just have to put up with it, Ellen heaved herself from her bed, stood up and glanced at the clock in the half-darkness. Five O'clock. Her body shuddered and tried to collapse back onto the bed. _No, you have things to do – save lives, find your brother if he's here._

Ellen dragged her feet across the cold, concrete floor, over to the wardrobe she shared with Clara. They both had their own trunk at the end of their beds, but their uniform always had to smart, or as smart as you could keep it whilst treating the soldiers' horrific injuries. No creases or wrinkles, so it had to be hung up. Ellen pulled open the wardrobe doors open with a creak and fished out her uniform – the long, ankle length light blue – grey dress, the long nurses' apron with the red medical cross on the front and finally the armband also with the medical cross on. Ellen went back over to her bed and pulled a clean, white shift out of the trunk that sat at the end of her bed and pulled it over her head. Ellen then stepped into her dress and buttoned it up.

"Clara? Can I light the lamp?"

Clara looked up from her nest of blankets. "Yes, if you must," she muttered then pulled the covers over her head.

Ellen lit the lamp. It flickered into life and threw light out around the room. Clara groaned. Ellen shuffled over to the shared dressing table by the window and drew a hairbrush from one of the draws, slowly she began to work the knots out of her long, dull, chocolate brown hair. After she was sure her hair was knot-free, she collected it in her hand at the back of her head and twisted it up. Ellen made the bun stay with pins but still had small locks that had escaped the bun, and Ellen found herself using the rest to keep the rest of her hair in place. She produced a headscarf from the same draw and tied it around her head, so only a little hair was visible. After sorting her hair out, Ellen dragged her apron over her head and tied it at the back in a bow and slipped the armband on. _Chin up, chuck! It's a new day, nothing is as bad as it seems!_

John leant over one of the patients he had operated on the day before. His breathing was normal if a little shallow but that was to be expected as the trauma he had sustained to his chest easily could have killed him. Luckily, he had been one of the first soldiers to be brought in. John still had, had to pull three bullets out of his chest, making blood spurt everywhere but the boy had survived.

"Everything alright, Doc?" laughed the soldier, weakly.

"Yes, I think so," answered John, standing up straight. "You are extremely lucky! I honestly thought you wouldn't make it."

"Thanks for the reassurance, doc."

The Doctor shook his head. "I prefer to tell the truth. Saying that, I must tell you that you won't be re-joining your regiment any time soon. Like I said before, the trauma to your chest was unimaginable – you need rest, so you'll be going back home."

The look of relief on his face was immense. "Are you serious, Doc, I can go home?"

"Yes, in a few day. Anyway, I must go and my see other patients."

John turned away from the soldier and moved down the line of beds, briefly chatting to each of them in turn to see how their condition was and how they were feeling. Most were in too much pain even to lift their head from their pillow, others were either sleeping or conserving their energy so they could stay alive. An hour later, John had seen all his patients, he decided to take a break and have a quick cup of tea in the staffroom. Some of the men, John could tell, were on the brink of death, and probably would not live to see the next day. Internal injuries were just too severe and they were bleeding internally but it could not be stopped without killing them, the surgery would be too invasive and would end up damaging the internal organs even further. Not to mention bacteria would be sent further into the body, increasing the likelihood of them developing an illness. Lost in thought John had not realized he had found his way to the Staffroom and could hear two female voices coming from the door that was ajar.

"Please Ellen," complained the high Scottish voice.

"Amy, I really appreciate the offer but I'm not that kind of person. I don't really like dancing that much – I need to write some letters to-,"

"Exactly! You'll need some stories to tell them! Come on Ellen you've been here three months now and we barely know anything about you, a dance in Ypres can't hurt," complained Amy.

"Amy, really I can't-,"

"What's the matter?" John enquired, stepping into the room.

Ellen squeaked and nearly dropped the mug she was holding. "Dr Smith!"

Amy rolled her eyes. "I'm trying to convince Ellen to come dancing with us before the war destroys Ypres but she is insistent that she has 'letters to write' on Saturday!"

A small smile played on John's lips. "Is that true, Ellen?"

She looked at the floor. "No sir. I have never been dancing before, apart from the fete in my village where I danced around the May Pole. That's why I don't want to go dancing on Saturday."

He nodded. "I think Amy's right. You need to experience the world before it disappears from under your fingertips."

"Yes sir," murmured Ellen.

Changing the subject, John said, "Right, tea! That's what I was doing wasn't it?"

"Probably," laughed Amy. "Why don't I make up some shortbread on Sunday?"

"Yes!" cried John, waving his gangling arms about. "That'd be amazing Amy! Scottish Shortbread!"

Ellen retreated to the stove where she put the kettle on to boil, whilst Amy and John continued their conversation about shortbread and all things Scottish. The kettle boiled and Ellen poured the hot water out into the tea pot where she let it brew for five minutes. After letting it brew, she poured it into cracked china cups and passed them to John and Amy.

"Thank you," sang Amy, whisking the cup out of her hands and adding a dash of milk.

John echoed Amy but upset the table Ellen's tea cup and the tea pot were sat on, causing tea to slop over the edge of the tea cup.

"Sorry!"

"Its fine," Ellen muttered, wearily.

Amy raised her cup to her lips, a small, mischievous smile on her face. John did the same but mouthed to Amy, "She didn't call me 'sir'!" The three drank their tea in an awkward silence, with John and Amy occasionally sharing impish looks. Amy kept gesturing with her eyes towards Ellen. John shook his head, rolling his eyes. Ellen stood in the corner, sipping her tea nervously. Amy downed the last dregs of her tea in one go and then set the cup down on the table.

"Well, I have to go. You know – work to do!" she chirped and with a flourish exited the room.

Ellen also finished off her tea. "I should go too, Clara probably wants to take a break."

She started to leave, but John said, "Ellen can I have a word?"

She nodded and returned to her original position by the stove. "I looked for your brother last night but I couldn't find him, I'm sorry but I do have a friend on the front line who might be able to find out what has happened to him. Would you like me to ask?"

Ellen hesitated. "Yes, I think so. I need to know, perhaps I can soften the blow to my family if he's dead."

"Alright, I'll ask. Also, make sure you have fun on Saturday. I might be there, you know just to make sure Amy behaves herself," said John.

"Thank you Dr Smith, and I will try to have fun."

Ellen tried to walk away again but a final word from John stopped her. "John is my name. You can address me by it."

Ellen inclined her head and walked away back onto the ward.

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><p><strong>Thank you very much for reading! Constructive criticism is very welcome but hate is not! <strong>


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello! I hope you enjoyed the last chapter! I've decided to slip another couple of familiar faces (or you know… names because you can't physically see their faces…) into this chapter. To find out who they are… Read on… (by the way I don't own Doctor Who (kinda forgot to say that earlier… oops) so please don't sue me)!**

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><p>It was a busy day on the Ward. Ellen had been swept off of her feet by the constant work, she had not had time to worry about her brother. Dr Smith, or John as she now had to call him had been keeping an eye on her, like he did Clara and Amy, Ellen found it slightly unnerving – she was used to being looked out for by her brother and father but Dr Smith was practically a stranger. She looked up from the bandage she was changing to see Dr Song in a hushed conversation with what looked to be a big-nosed Army Captain. Dr Song suddenly turned and noticed Ellen watching them. Swiftly she walked over.<p>

"Can I spare you?" she whispered.

"What for?" Ellen replied, tying off the bandage.

"A few of the men that suffered slightly less life-threatening injuries are still at the front and they need to be brought back here to be treated. Dr Smith needs a nurse to go with him to decide who to bring back and who can be treated at the front," explained Dr Song.

Ellen nodded, picking up the roll of bandages and the scissors. "When do we leave?"

"In ten minutes, I'll inform Nurse Miller you're going with him."

* * *

><p>Ten minutes later Ellen walked across the courtyard to the bumpy dirt road that past the Casualty Clearing Station. Dr Smith was in a deep conversation with the Army Captain she had seen earlier.<p>

"Dr Smith," Ellen said, walking over to him.

"Ah Nurse Stoker! Are you ready to go?"

_If we're 'friends' can I make jokes?_ "That's why I'm here," she gestured spreading her arms wide.

Dr Smith gave her a wide grin and slapped his forehead. "Of course! How silly of me!"

"Sir, can we go now?" asked the Captain, walking over to them.

"Yes, of course Captain Williams. This is Nurse Stoker, by the way – she'll be assisting me today."

"Miss," acknowledged Captain Williams.

Ellen gave him a nod. Captain Williams led her and Dr Smith over to the horse-drawn ambulance. Ellen almost tripped over her long skirt as Dr Smith helped her into the back of the ambulance. There were two mattresses with white pillows next to the driver, and a bag of medical instruments, bandages and medicine between them. Ellen sat down on one of the straw mattresses and folded her hands in her lap. Dr Smith sat down on the other facing her.

"It will take about an hour to get to the front," said Captain Williams, then walked round to the front of the ambulance and placed himself up front with the driver.

It began moving immediately, rocking and shaking as it went over the bumps on the road. Dr Smith sighed, stretched out his legs and placed his hands behind his head.

"You're very quiet, Ellen. Are you feeling alright?"

Ellen bobbed her head. "Yes I'm fine."

"Are you sure? You've been like this all day," he said, a touch of concern in his voice.

"Yes, Dr Smith. I'm just wondering what it's like at the front, I've heard awful things… Rats, the mud and the smell are all awful, if my brother's letters are anything to go by…"

He paused, a thoughtful look on his face. "If you were still back at the hospital and not coming out to the front I would try and sugar-coat it but as you're coming with me I will tell you the truth… The trenches are worse than you've heard from your brother. The mud soaks into your shoes, and the wounds of the men obviously. Some of the men's boots are so water-logged their living flesh begins to rot and creates the most unimaginable smell, like rotting fish. There are bodies buried near-by in the walls of the trenches, most of them are rotting so the smell is ghastly, like the insides of a cow being regurgitated by a snake. The latrines over flow and the rats are drawn to it like bees to flowers. Some can grow as big as rats, I've heard, and the lice eat the men alive."

Ellen sat in a stunned silence. She just did not seem to be able to communicate. Everyone had heard about the scandalous conditions in the trenches but never anything as graphic as that.

"Is it really like that?" she choked, finding her voice.

He nodded gravely. "Yes. I wish it were different."

"Me too. I wish this whole war hadn't have happened. Why did Russia have to invade Serbia anyway?"

"They had a pact, but so did Austria-Hungary with the Germans. We had a pact with Belgium, and a Navy just sitting in its harbour, so obviously it needed something to do!"

Ellen choked out a laugh. She had to admit, Dr Smith did have a clever sense of humour.

* * *

><p>The journey passed pleasantly, or as pleasantly as it could be, considering where Ellen and Doctor Smith were going. She began to admire the man. He had travelled everywhere – first he started out going to Western Europe, then when he decided that was not far enough, he decided to travel to Eastern Europe, then into Russia where he had tea with one of the Tsar's cousins. After Europe Dr Smith had decided to go to Africa with his brother, David, – that was where David had met his wife Rose, at a ball for the gentry.<p>

"David and Rose decided to stay in West Africa to court but I wanted to go to Egypt and the Congo, oh, and Abyssinia! I loved Egypt, it was absolutely fascinating – the pyramids are incredible, they're huge and did you know they have booby-traps to stop grave robbers? I got stuck in one room because this huge stone came down from the ceiling and blocked the entrance!"

"What did you do then?" Ellen asked, incredulously.

"Well I yelled and yelled for hours! I thought I would be stuck there until I starved to death, but someone heard me crying and the huge stone cracked and then crumbled, and that was how I met Jack Harkness!"

"Wow, you were incredibly lucky! I can't believe they found you. Who was the man that found you?"

"A free-lance agent from America! He goes around looking for artefacts for museums, he's a reservist in the Army over there. Jack's joined a proper artefact company now, called Torchwood. He travels around with a group of people. He writes to me sometimes from India and even China! China! Can you imagine, Ellen? The Great Wall, and the all Temples! I'd love to go, but this ghastly war has put a stop to all of that."

"I can't even begin to imagine, Dr Smith-,"

"John, Ellen. I've told you – call me John."

"John," sighed Ellen. "I wish I had the money to go travelling. The most exciting place I've been is London."

John smiled at her. "London is very exciting! Where did you go?"

"Oh, er, Tower Bridge, Greenwich Market, the National Gallery – those sort of places."

"The National Gallery? No wonder you didn't find it exciting! There are far more interesting places to go!"

Ellen opened her mouth to speak again but another voice cut her off. "Dr Smith," said Captain Williams. "We're here."

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><p>Ellen could not believe her eyes. The devastation stretched for miles. There were dead men littering the ground and the once green fields were a sea of grey and brown clay mud. Ellen could see the corkscrews of barbed wire and shell-holes in the ground.<p>

"Oh God," she murmured.

John nodded gravely. His features were hardened and stony.

"I'm afraid we'll have to down into the trenches themselves. Some of the men can't be moved," Captain Williams informed them.

"Isn't it the stretcher-bearer's job to get them out?" snapped John.

"Yes, sir, but some were injured in the battle and I'm afraid we're a little short-staffed."

John heaved a sigh. "Fine, fine, come on Nurse Stoker."

Ellen stood frozen. _I can't go into the trenches_, she thought. _I can't see all those bodies, and those dying men, plus I'm a woman, they won't let me in!_

"Nurse, are you alright?" enquired Captain Williams.

"Yes, it's just I'm a woman. Will they let me into the trenches?"

Captain Williams hesitated. John looked miffed. "I think you're right," he said. "Captain, is there a private's uniform we can borrow?"

* * *

><p>Ellen felt terribly conspicuous. She also felt indecent with no heavy skirts, her legs felt exposed and so did her neck with her hair up in the hat. The coat was too big, so her 'womanly features' were not exposed and yelled to the world she was a woman. Usually Ellen would complain that men had more freedoms and opportunities than women but she now would never wish to be one of them. The men looked enviously at the medical cross on her arm but always directed her to the sick and injured that needed treating.<p>

"Thank you," croaked one man, as she bandaged his head and gave him some painkillers.

"You're very welcome," Ellen said, putting on a deep gruff voice and moved on to the next man.

Dr Smith sidled up next to her. "How's it going?" he asked in a low voice.

"Fine, sir."

"Good. How many have you sent back?"

"Er, about ten now sir."

"Alright. Are there anymore?" John asked one of the soldiers near-by.

He man sniffed. "Yeah mate, a few down the end are in a bad way."

They trudged through the mud for a quarter of a mile until they found a few soldiers who were huddled over letters from home.

"Hi chaps," said Dr Smith. "Is there anyone that needs treating?"

One nodded. "There's one in No Man's Land. You can hear him calling."

"Can't we go up there?" Ellen asked Dr Smith.

"Absolutely not!"

"Why? There's an injured man up there! We might be able to save him!"

"And get ourselves killed in the process?"

One of the soldiers interjected, pulling out a large piece of white fabric from his pocket. "You might live if you go up there with a white flag – it shows you mean no harm."

Ellen grabbed it off of him, and started walking down the trench, looking for a ladder.

"Nur-, El-, Stoker! Where are you going?"

"Into No Man's Land!" she yelled, finding a ladder and starting to climb.

"You'll get yourself killed!"

Ellen ignored him. She started waving the flag as soon as her head was visible over the top of the trench. She could not see a body. A shot rang out.

"It means 'no harm'!" she yelled, then cursed under her breath as she climbed over the over the top of the trench.

Slowly and cautiously, Ellen stepped over No Man's Land.

"Hello? Can anyone hear me?" she called. "Hello?"

First there was silence but after a few seconds there was an agonized: "Help me!"

"Don't worry, I'm coming!"

"Please!" moaned the voice. "Please help me! It hurts so much! Don't leave me to die!"

"I won't, I promise I won't leave you!"

Ellen could not see where he was. "Help!" screamed the voice.

He was in agony, she tried to make out his body. She was about to give up when she saw something squirming in the mud.

"Hello! Keep talking, I can see you!"

"Thank you!" screamed the man, sounding relieved.

Ellen finally got to the man. There was a huge laceration on his leg, from a bullet and being dragged through the barbed wires. She pulled out a couple of morphine pills from her top breast pocket fed them to him with a sip from her flask of water.

"Thank you," he whispered. "Do I know you?"

"No, I don't think so," muttered Ellen, concentrating on tying a bandage around the wound. "I work for the Royal Army Medical Corps, in the Casualty Clearing Station."

"No," he muttered, deliriously as the morphine pills started to take effect. "I know you, you look like… like Ellen. Ellen… Jonas's little sister…"

Ellen froze. She did know him. The butcher's son. "Darrel?"

Darrel's eyes widened. "Ellen? What are you doing here? Why are you dressed like that?"

"I'm-."

"Stoker, Stoker! Are you alright?" bellowed Dr Smith.

Ellen stood up and turned around. She could see Dr Smith standing in No Man's Land by the trench. "Yes, I'm fine! I found him!" shouted Ellen.

He gave two thumbs up. "Wonderful! I'll come over and help you get him out!"

"Thank you Dr Smith! Dr Smith! I know him! He's-,"

Ellen stepped forward and the world went black.

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><p><strong>This chapter ended up being a lot longer than I anticipated but I hope you enjoyed it none the less! I'm not very good at promoting myself but I would love it if you could share it with your friends and fellow Whovians. If you follow this story, or favourite it or get your friends to read it or leave a review I will send you a cookie! I'm serious. When I'm not writing, I'm baking, so I don't care where you are in the world, I will send you a cookie (or some kind of baked good) and a packet of Earl Grey tea bags. Constructive criticism is very welcome, but hate is not! Thank you <strong>


	4. Chapter 4

"_Ellen! Ellen!"_

"_Get her to an ambulance now!"_

* * *

><p>"<em>Ellen! Stay with me, please!" <em>

"_You said she'd be safe!"_

"_Clara, please not now!"_

"_John, if she dies-,"_

"_She will die if you don't help me! Her skull is broken and there's pressure building up inside it! We, we…"_

"_We what?"_

"_We need to drill a hole in her head to relieve the pressure, now. Right now, or she'll die before I can get her onto the operating table."_

"_John, that'll kill her if the drill touches her brain!"_

"_I know…"_

* * *

><p>"<em>You'll make it, Ellen, I know you will."<em>

"_Dr Song, Dr Smith said there's nothing more he can do…"_

"_I know, Amy, but she still needs the encouragement – even if she is unconscious."_

* * *

><p>Ellen could feel sunlight on her eyelids. Slowly and blearily she opened them, but it felt as if someone had tried to glue them together. The sun blinded her slightly. As her eyes focused, she could see there were rows of iron-framed beds. <em>I'm on a hospital ward,<em> she thought. Slowly a trickle of information started to pour into her head, like a leaking gutter. The soldier. No Man's Land. The Trenches. Dr Smith. The world going black.

A nurse walked past her bed.

"Excuse me!" Ellen meant to call, but it came out as a strangled cry instead.

The nurse whipped around. It was Clara.

"Ellen!" she cried, running back to the bed. "How are you feeling?"

She considered this. Her head was aching, like someone had bashed her against a wall, and there was also a dull pain in her left arm. "Painful," she decided to reply.

Clara looked relieved. "Good, just pain, not a numb feeling anywhere?"

Ellen meant to shake her head, but it felt as if someone was bashing her with a spade. "No."

"Try not to move your head! Your skull's broken and your brain also decided to swell up too."

"What?"

"There was too much pressure in your head because your skull was broken. Dr Smith had to drill through the bone to relieve it."

Ellen sat in a stunned silence. _I nearly died,_ was the only thought that her brain seemed to compute.

"What happened to me?" she managed say after a while. "I mean the last thing I remember was Dr Smith telling me he'd help me get the soldier out of No Man's Land."

Clara nodded. "Well after that an artillery shell went off. Dr Smith thinks that the soldier you were tending to tried to get up but ended up tripping over and falling backwards, anyway, it triggered this shell that had just been lying in the mud. You were thrown forward and buried under a load of earth. He, Captain Williams and a couple of other soldiers had to dig you out."

"And Darrel?"

"Who?"

"The boy I was tending to."

Clara's expression changed, she looked away from Ellen, trying to avoid her eyes. "I'm… I'm afraid… The shell got him… There were only a few bits of him left, Ellen, I'm so sorry."

Ellen felt as if someone had whacked her in the chest. Darrel. Sweet little Darrel – the boy who scraped his knee after falling out of the apple tree on the Green. The boy who had celebrated with Jonas when their cricket team had won the county championship. The boy who had picked her a bunch of flowers from the meadow when it was her birthday. Was he really gone? How could he be when her memories of him were still fresh in her mind? Do people just really vanish when their time is done? Ellen was not even aware of the tears slowly dripping down her face as she thought about him. _Is he with Jonas? Or is there some tiny chance that Jonas is still alive?_

Clara put her hand on Ellen's shoulder. "I'm sorry. Did you know him?"

Ellen dipped her head. "Yes," she choked.

"At least he's not in any pain anymore…"

"Clara," whispered Ellen.

"Yes, what is it?"

"Could you please leave me alone?"

She looked stunned. "Erm, yes, of course," she babbled, picking up her clipboard. "Dr Smith."

Ellen looked up to see him walking towards her bed. "Clara was supposed to tell me when you woke up. How are you feeling?"

"Physically fine."

He surveyed her. "Physically you're in a pretty bad way, Ellen. What with the broken skull and arm."

"I hadn't even noticed my arm was broken, Dr Smith," Ellen said, inspecting her left arm. "I was more worrying about the death of a young soldier that I was treating."

"Ellen, have I done something to insult you?"

She gave him a scathing look. "No nothing _John_," she barked.

Dr Smith was taken aback, and if the light had been better, Ellen would have thought hurt too. "If you wanted me to address you as Nurse Stoker, I would have if you had told me."

"That might be better as names don't matter anymore, you might as well call me 'number 20'!"

"I'm sorry?!"

Ellen leaned forward. "I was the twentieth nurse to arrive, was I not?"

John hesitated. "Yes, I believe you were…"

"Then call me 'number twenty' seeing as Darrel's name will only be a number one day! This war will only ever be measured with numbers! No one will remember the people that died to keep Germany at bay!"

Some of the men in the other beds stared to stir and look at her. "Calm down," hushed John.

"No! Even your silly little adventures will be forgotten, so why did you feel the need even to tell me about them? Why didn't you just die in that pyramid?!"

John stumbled backwards as if Ellen had hit him. There was a look of despair on his face as he watched her. "I'm sorry you feel like that," he muttered, huskily, as he turned oh his heel and walked away from her.

Ellen watched him go. There was a line, and she had most definitely crossed it. _Oh God, why did I do that? _She wanted to call him back but he was already too far away to be called without waking the rest of the ward.

"Well done there, lassie," said a croaky Scottish accent.

Ellen rolled over, wincing slightly. She looked at the soldier. "I didn't mean to upset him, I'm just angry."

"We all are lass, but the man cares about you and if you didn't mean to scare him, why'd you tell him he should die in a pyramid? Why'd you say that?"

"He once got trapped in a pyramid. Do you think I should apologize?"

The soldier nodded. "Obviously."

Mustering up all of her strength, Ellen swung her legs out of the bed and stood up. Her legs shook, and she had to hold the end of the bed frame for support.

"What yeh doing, lassie?"

"Going to see John!"

The soldier was stunned. Ellen let go of the bed and took a few shaky steps forward. Realizing she could walk, Ellen took a few more steps more quickly in the direction John had gone. A few of the men were staring. She realized she still had the Private's Uniform on. Undaunted, she reached the edge of the ward and turned into the corridor that lead to the nurse's quarters. As she walked along the corridor, she did not see Amy coming in the opposite direction and crashed straight into her.

"Ellen!" she shrieked.

"Amy! Where's John?"

"What are you doing out of bed – you're injured!"

"Yeah, I don't care. Where's John?"

"Erm, outside I think…."

"Thank you!" Ellen said, dashing off.

She hurried along the corridor, now clutching her side as a sharp pain began to resonate there. Ellen found the door that opened up to the courtyard and threw it open. She could see John talking to one of the nurses. Ellen limped halfway across it before yelling at him.

"John! John!"

His head whipped up. "Ellen?" he said, aghast and strode over.

John just managed to reach Ellen before she collapsed. "I'm glad I found you!" she puffed, falling into his arms.

"Why?" he exclaimed, laughing slightly as he realized as she was trailing her bed-sheet.

"I needed to say sorry!"

John looked around, realizing how awkward this was as many of the staff were staring. "Why don't we go somewhere else?"

Ellen nodded. John hesitated, then swept her up in his arms and carried her back inside.

"Where are we going?" muttered Ellen, feeling nervous.

"The Staff Room."

She was struck by how strong John was. He looked so gangly, like a weeping-willow but Ellen could feel some hard muscle underneath his army uniform. He did not look different to a regular soldier, apart from the white armband with the medical cross on it. He usually had a white apron on when he was needed in theatre or checking his patients on the ward. John reached the Staff Room and backed the door open with his back. He set Ellen down on a chair and took one himself.

"Right, now what did you want to say?"

She gulped. "I wanted to say I was sorry about earlier, I was upset because of the soldier…"

"Ahhh," he murmured. "Yes, I'm sorry… There was nothing you could do about it…"

"It's just," gulped Ellen. "I knew that boy… His name was Darrel and he lived in my village. He was on Jonas's cricket team…"

John nodded and took her hand. "Now I understand… I am truly sorry. This war… It's the end of the world as we know it, everything will change after this, I'm sure of it."

* * *

><p><strong>And to be honest, it did! Bring on the twenties! I'm sorry this is slightly late, I have just started by English Literature coursework… Argh! So I might be a bit slower from now on <strong>** I would love it if you could favourite, follow and review so I can send you a cookie! **


	5. Chapter 5

**I'm sorry this one is quite short but I felt like I needed to do a chapter from John's POV because all of the last one was from Ellen's.**

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><p>John carried Ellen back to her bed. As well as being seriously injured, she was also extremely tired, almost on the brink of fatigue. He could feel her gentle breathing against his chest, he smiled as it slowed and she nodded off into a peaceful slumber. Softly, he placed Ellen on her bed and pulled the covers over her body.<p>

"The lassie found you then?" whispered the soldier in the next bed along.

"Yes," John whispered back.

"Is she alright?"

"She'll be fine as long as she rests. I might move her to her room when she's feeling stronger, it's not right for her to be in with the soldiers."

The soldier nodded. "I think peace and quiet will do her good too. It must be hectic here sometimes."

John considered this. Ellen had always been the girl who was calm under pressure, and kept herself together for the sake of others. Physically she would be fine, but the mental toll could prove too much and drive her mad, or even give her shell shock.

"I might put forward the idea that it would be better for her to recover at home, in England. It would give her a rest from the mental strain of everything here. People always recover more quickly when they are under less strain."

"Good idea, laddie. You wouldn't want a fragile thing like her cracking under the pressure here."

John chuckled. "I'm afraid she's anything but fragile, she was blown up by a shell in No Man's Land."

The soldier snickered as well. "Aye, I heard about that from the northern nurse. Brave or stupid, what do you reckon?"

"Both."

* * *

><p>John sat at his desk in the office, which was really a farm out-building, whom he shared with Dr Miles, another one of the doctors in the Casualty Clearing Station. He was filling out paperwork for more supplies for the Station when the door creaked open. Amy stepped through it.<p>

"Dr Smith?"

"Amy, what's wrong?"

Amy stepped into the room and closed the door. A look of worry was etched over her features. "Dr Smith, General Strax wants to see you," she said, looking at the floor.

"Whatever for?" enquired John, putting down his pen and leaning forward on his elbows.

"It's about Ellen…"

John jumped up out of his chair, knocking it over and hasty hurried over to Amy. "What about her, is she alright? Is she-."

Amy grabbed him by the shoulders. "She's fine, you idiot!" she snapped, her sharp, Scottish accent bouncing off the walls. "You're the one in trouble! You took her into No Man's Land!"

"Oh…"

"Yes 'oh'!" she chided. "What were you thinking?"

"I was trying to help people! I'm a doctor, it's what I do!"

"By nearly getting someone killed?!"

"She went out there before I could stop her!"

"You didn't have to disguise her as a boy though!"

"How was she supposed to get into the trenches in the first place if I didn't disguise her?!"

"Erm, not take her in there in the first place?!"

"None of the doctors could be spared!"

"Then you should have gone alone, John!" she shouted, now pacing around the room. "Could you image how awful it would have been for her family, especially as her brother's dead -?"

John stared at her. "He's really dead?" John muttered.

Amy looked him in the eye. "Well officially he's 'Missing in Action' but Captain Williams said that's code for blown to smithereens in No Man's Land."

"I'm sorry, if I'd have known, I wouldn't have…"

Amy hugged him. "It's alright John. I'm mad but you did save her and…"

"What?"

Amy released him from the hug. "Don't tell Ellen her brother's dead. Let her family do it… It'll be better coming from them."

Slowly John nodded. "Yes, I think that would be best."

"Now, go and see General Strax and Dr Turner. There're in Dr Turner's office."

John inclined his head and started to walk towards the door.

"John?" called Amy.

"Yes?"

"Good luck!"

"Thank you, I have a feeling I might need it."

* * *

><p>There was not much activity in the Clearing Station, apart from the nurses running back and forth, doing errands and tending to the soldiers. The Clearing Station had once been a farm but at the outbreak of war had been abandoned, and the British Military had built concrete shelters to act a wards for the men on the farm's ground so it had become a hospital for the men. <em>At least we're not at the Dressing Stations right towards the front, only half a mile from the front-line trenches<em>, thought John, glumly as he marched his uncooperative legs to Dr Turner's office. Ypres was only ten or eleven miles away from the fighting, it was such a pretty town with its huge Cloth Hall that was adorned with sculptures of religious figures, John wondered what the war would do to it. He reached the front door of the farm house and creaked it open.

Here were the master-minds of the whole operation, the doctors and nurses wrote out death certificates and arranged the burials of the men killed in battle. John was grateful he didn't work in that department, the amount of certificates that had to be signed would have depressed him for the rest of his life. He took the main stairs up to the first floor and found Dr Turner's office on the right at the top. It was an old master-bedroom. John knocked briskly on the door.

"Come in!" barked an authoritarian voice.

Taking a deep breath, John pushed the door open and strode into the room.

"Dr Smith," said Dr Turner, as he entered. "This is General Strax."

Dr Turner gestured to the short, squat, broad-shouldered man who was standing by the edge of the desk. "Is this the boy?" he barked at Dr Turner.

"Yes, sir," replied Dr Turner.

John turned to face General Strax. He could see that the man had a large forehead, and was balding. His eyes seemed to be huge in his round face with a small pointed nose and a straight upper lip. "Sir," said John, addressing the General.

"Hmph."

Dr Turner stood up from his chair behind his desk and walked around to the front of it. "Well, Dr Smith, I'm afraid you have left us in a rather sticky situation. What am I supposed to tell our commander when a young girl nearly gets blown to pieces in No Man's Land?"

John thought for a moment and then answered: "I don't know sir."

"Well then Dr Smith, we have a problem-."

"The problem is you let a young, weak, defenceless girl into No Man's Land and expected her to survive!" roared Commander Strax.

"I know, sir," muttered John, hanging his head. "I didn't mean for her to get hurt, I thought it was a good idea!"

"A good idea!" laughed Dr Turner, in disbelief. "How would have that been a good idea?"

"I needed someone to help me treat the wounded men! And in all fairness she was disguised as a boy… Oops…" he whispered as he realized what he had said.

"Dressed as a boy?!" spluttered Commander Strax. "A woman in trousers?!"

"We were short-staffed, sir!" pleaded John. "I couldn't take another doctor with me."

Dr Turner leant back on his desk. "Well, I have a right mind to fire you, Dr Smith."

"You should," growled Commander Strax.

"But, you are a good doctor and we are already understaffed as it is, so I will allow you to stay."

John was about to stay thank you when Dr Turner continued. "But I must write to Nurse Stoker's family to tell them what has happened and report it to the head of the RAMC so if you lose your position here, it's on your head."

John nodded again and then fled the room.

* * *

><p><strong>Hello again! I apologize again for this one also being quite short but college seems to be sapping all of my energy at the moment, and it's really annoying me! Anyway, yes I slipped Strax in there! I hope you liked that little surprise, don't worry he will get nicer! Though it was short I hope it was sweet, and also if I have been putting capital letters on nouns that don't need them, please let me know… I think my German AS is starting to affect my English! Help! Anyway, if you review, follow or favourite, I will send you a cookie!<strong>


	6. Chapter 6

**So last time John was in trouble and Jonas was dead! I know, so cheerful but things are about to get slightly less cheerful, read on to find out…**

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><p>Ellen awoke, the next morning, to the sound of Clara humming merrily as she bandaged up the Scottish Soldier's arm after changing the dressing on it.<p>

"Morning!" Clara chirped.

"Good morning," Ellen uttered back, a little less cheerily.

"Good morning to the both of ya, lassies," laughed the soldier.

Clara beamed. "That's enough of that Malcom!"

"Are ya sure?"

"Very sure," chuckled Clara.

Ellen smiled at her friend. "What's put you in such a good mood?"

"Such a good mood? I'm in a normal mood, thank you very much!" she giggled.

Ellen rolled her eyes. "You see that giggling! That's the mood I'm talking about!"

Clara gave Ellen a mischievous smile. "I'm going home for Christmas!" she squealed.

"Really?! Clara that's wonderful!"

"But that's not even the best part… Danny's spending Christmas with us!"

Ellen sat up. "Oh, that's lovely! Your father's finally warmed up to him then?"

Clara nodded eagerly. "Yes, his leave coincided with mine, and seeing as he doesn't have any family apart from his brother, then I thought it would be lovely if he'd spend it with us."

"Well it's obviously lucky for some," interjected Malcom. "So that's why I never had a chance?"

"No, I'm afraid not."

"What about you?" he enquired, turning to Ellen.

She blushed. "Well, I don't have a sweet-heart, but, er, well I'm flattered but… but…"

"Don't worry, lassie," chortled Malcom. "I think you've caught someone else's affection instead."

"What, who?"

Clara and Malcom shared a look, just as John walked onto the ward with a bag full of post. Ellen could see, even from that distance, he was tired. His stride was not as purposeful as it had been before. John came closer, Ellen felt a twinge in her stomach as she saw the dark circles under his eyes, and his grey, pale face. He smiled when he saw Ellen.

"Here Ellen, a letter from home," said John, handing it to her.

She took it. "Thank you, how are you?"

"Tired, very tired. I've been in some trouble with the powers on high, over letting you into the trenches. But apart from that, I've been fine."

"That doesn't sound fine," muttered Ellen, her stomach twinging with guilt. "I'm sorry I've got you in trouble."

John gave Ellen a small smile, he looked defeated. "It wasn't your fault, it was my lack of good judgement."

"Well, thank you for the letter."

"You're welcome, I need to go and give the rest of these out," he said, gesturing to the sack of post. "And I almost forgot, you're to be sent home for the rest of your recovery. Dr Turner seemed to think that was best for you, seeing as…"

"What?"

"You were injured and can't stay on a ward with the rest of the soldiers."

"Oh, right," said Ellen, grateful for the foresight.

John gave Ellen one last, small smile and walked away. She then turned her attention to the letter in her hands. On the envelope, clear as day, was her mother's writing. Ellen's heart gave a little leap as she saw it. It had been weeks since her parents had written to her, perhaps they were writing to tell her Jonas was safe. Ellen had not found him in the trenches, after all, and he had not been injured with the rest of the soldiers. Fingers fumbling, excitedly she tore open the letter.

_My dearest Ellen, _

_I'm sorry we haven't written to you for a few weeks, but the war is taking its toll on our little village – almost all of the men have gone to the front now, bar your father and others that are too old to go. We have been trying to distribute supplies fairly as the German U-boats keep attacking the ships carrying food for the country. Some of the families are struggling desperately to make ends meet and their children are going hungry, so the members of the WI have been collecting food anyone can spare to give out to the families that need it. I have been making jam from the black berries that grow around our garden, and your father has been baking bread with the extra flour the miller has been providing. _

_ The reason why I have decided to write so suddenly, is that we received a couple of days ago telling us that Jonas has 'gone missing in action and is most likely dead'. I'm sorry my writing is so shaky, but I cannot contain my tears, sweetheart. I am so sorry. I wish you were here with us but the work you are doing is so important and your father and I are so proud of you. I know Jonas would be too. Keep strong, my lovely, you can save lives even if our Jonas's is gone. Write to us soon._

_Lots of love, _

_Your Mother xxx_

Ellen had not even noticed that tears were running down her face. The letter was so short, yet it held such meaning. He was gone. He was really gone. Words, for her mother, were not enough to show how you felt, that was why she had not written much about Jonas's death. _Your father and I are so proud of you. I know Jonas would be too. _Jonas had laughed when Ellen had said she wanted to join the nurses in the Casualty Clearing Stations.

* * *

><p>"<em>You Ellen?" he had gaffed. "Are you sure? The trenches aren't a picnic, so I doubt the CCRs will be any better!"<em>

"_I'm sure Jonas. Everyone else is doing something for this war, why not me? I'm eighteen now, not a child!" she had said, frustrated and got up off the wooden swing that hung from the tree in their back-garden. _

"_I'm sorry, it's just you're my little sister. I can't help being protective of you. Why don't you work in the military hospitals here? You'd be far safer."_

"_Jonas, this war has been going on for a year! Millions of men have died in that time, the front line medical teams are the most important, and I can do more good there than in the military hospitals in London."_

_He had looked defeated. "Am I going to be able to change your mind?"_

_Ellen had shaken her head. "No."_

"_Mum will have something to say about it, so will Dad," Jonas had muttered, as they had walked to the back door. _

"_Dad will tell me to stay, Mum will tell me to go."_

"_Mum's mad."_

"_She was a suffragette, she's brave and mad!"_

_Jonas had opened the door, grinning in his special, boyish way. "Amen to that, little sis. Amen…"_

* * *

><p>That was the last proper conversation she had, had with Jonas. A week later he had been shipped out to France with a few of the other boys in the village who had not signed up in 1914. It had been a year since she had last spoken to him, since she had heard his voice. Ellen had letters from him of course, but they were little comfort when she was probably a few miles away from where he had died. That just did not sit right with her, how she had been so close to him but never seen him.<p>

"Ellen, are you alright?" enquired Clara, looking concerned as she saw the tears pouring down Ellen's face.

"He's dead," chocked Ellen, not believing what she was saying. "Jonas is dead. My brother's gone."

Clara rushed over, and enveloped her in a hug. "Shhh, shhh, it's alright."

Ellen let out a choked sob, then another and another until she could not stop. Clara hugged her tightly, gently rocking her back and forth to sooth her. Finally, her tears subsided and Clara released her from the embrace.

"There, there," she whispered, smoothing Ellen's hair. "Get some rest. I'll go and tell the girls."

Ellen nodded and lay back down, she shut her eyes, trying to get to sleep but Jonas's face just floated in front of her so she opened them, resigned to the fact she was not going to get any sleep that day.

"Ellen?" murmured John, walking up to her bed.

She bobbed her head.

"I'm sorry to hear about your brother," he sighed, heavily and sat down on the edge of her bed. "You are going home tomorrow, Clara's putting some things together for you to take – clothes and what not. Is there anything else you need to take back?"

Ellen hesitated. "Yes, there's a box on my dressing table – it has lots of pictures in of my family and friends."

"I'll go and tell Clara."

"Thank you."

John got up to leave but then stopped and sat back down. "Ellen, listen to me. I know everything seems awful and unfair now, but go home, grieve for your brother and only come back when you're ready. We need you to be ready to help people when you get back. There will be so many more like him in the coming days but you can save at least some of them. Don't give up hope just because you've lost someone."

Then he walked away, leaving his words to sink into Ellen's brain.

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><p><strong>Hello! It's me again. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I also hope you're all feeling festive. I am thinking of getting a Tumblr account but before I do that, someone needs to explain to me how the whole thing works because I have no idea. Anyway, please favourite, follow and review, so I can send you a gingerbread man (because it's almost Christmas)!<strong>


	7. Chapter 7

**Read and enjoy!**

Ellen's journey back to Yorkshire was not a pleasant one. Clara woke her just before seven O'clock so she could catch the train that went up to the coast at eight. It was November, so the sun had not risen as Ellen trudged along the side of the road to the railway station with John. He was carrying her small suitcase because she was not strong enough to carry it herself yet, though she had insisted she was strong enough. The silence had been awkward after John's words the night before.

"How are you feeling?" asked John, trying to break the window of silence.

"About going home to my grieving parents?"

John paused. "I'm sorry. I should have thought about that."

"It's not your fault, I'm just getting used to the idea of never seeing him again."

"I understand."

"What about your brother?"

"Sorry?"

"You said you didn't know where he was."

"I don't, but he's not fighting."

"What does he do then?"

John heaved a sigh, looking solemn. "David works in intelligence. He's probably spying on the Kaiser in his court or something like that."

"That sounds… Exciting."

"Exciting? Most people usually say 'dangerous'," he grinned.

Ellen thought for a moment. "Well it probably is but it's spying isn't it? He sounds like someone from the Sherlock Holmes novels."

"My brother, Sherlock Holmes," laughed John. "I think I'm more Sherlock than Mycroft, mind you."

"Why, are you the thinner brother then?"

"Absolutely."

The rest of the walk to the railway station was a more cheerful affair, as Ellen and John discussed their favourite Sherlock Holmes novels and favourite books. However, Ellen's cheerfulness vanished as she saw the bleak little railway station. The ticket office was a small, squat, grey building that looked battered by the war and there was a low mist settling on the land. The pair walked into the ticket office, and went up to the counter. The surly looking man at the counter stared up at them.

"Excusez-moi , pourrions-nous se il vous plaît avoir deux billets pour Calais? Se il vous plaît . Un retour, un seul," John requested, in French to the man.

"Oui, oui . Un retour, un seul," the man grumbled to himself, heaving himself up off his chair and fishing around inside the draws behind the counter.

"Comment a été buisness?" enquired John, trying to make conversation.

"Il ya une guerre en cours. Comment pensez-vous que ce est?" snapped the man. "Un retour, un seul . Ici vous êtes , ce est six francs," said the man, putting the tickets on the table.

John dipped his hand in his pocket, pulled the money out and tipped it into the man's hand. He then picked up the tickets.

"Come on, Ellen," said John, ushering her onto the platform.

Ellen followed him. The platform was close to the ground, not like Marylebone or King's Cross where the platform was high enough so you could just step onto the train. Ellen would have to hoist herself the steep steps into the carriage. She felt a little lightheaded at the thought of going home, _or that may just be the walk_. John came over.

"Would you like to sit down?" asked John, gesturing to a rotting bench.

"No thank you. How long until the train?"

"It should be along in about ten minutes if it's running on time."

"Good. When I get to Calais, which pier am I going to?"

John produced a piece of paper from his pocket. "Nine at half past two. You should be in Dover by five."

"Do my parents know I'm coming home?"

"Yes. Dr Turner phoned the local War Office, and they told your parents last night. Your parents will meet you in York, so when you get to Dover take the train that leaves at five twenty seven."

"Right," said Ellen, letting the information sink into her brain.

A small black spot appeared in the distance. Wisps of cloud floated away from it. Ellen and John could hear the slow 'chug-a-chug' of the steam engine as it approached, then a shrieking whistle was emitted from it. Then the high-pitched screech of the brakes came into ear-shot as the train arrived at the platform. John walked over to the carriage and stepped up onto the ladder below the carriage door. He swung it open and offered his hand to Ellen. She accepted and he helped her into the carriage.

"Tous à bord!" yelled the man from the ticket office.

The train whistle blew and the carriage started rocking slowly. John slid open one of the compartment doors. He threw his weight against it as the door stuck.

"John let me hold the suitcase!" laughed Ellen, as his limbs flailed around.

John threw himself against again. "No, no! I'm fine!" he panted.

Ellen walked forward, and pulled the suitcase from John's grasp. He heaved himself against the door again, and it burst open.

"Argh!" he yelled, as he tumbled forward and Ellen doubled over laughing. "It's not funny!"

He looked up at her, hair dishevelled and uniform askew. "If you could see yourself, you would find it funny!"

He stood up and straitened his uniform. "Well it hurt!"

"And so does my stomach from laughing at you!"

John rolled his eyes, grinning. "Would you like to take a seat, Miss Stoker?"

"Miss Stoker? Are we courting now, Mr Smith?"

He fidgeted awkwardly. "Well I was only being polite, but er, if you wanted to. We could."

Ellen stared at him. "John, I was joking. Perhaps it wasn't a very funny joke," shrugged Ellen.

"Oh er, well that was my fault. Sorry, sarcasm isn't my forte."

Ellen sat down on one of the benches. "That's fine, I shouldn't joke."

John sat down opposite her. He smiled awkwardly and pulled a book out his pocket and started to read. Ellen resigned herself to looking out of the window.

"_Come on, Ellen!" screeches Jonas, running across the cricket pitch. He looks no more than seven years old. "Try and beat me!"_

_Ellen runs after him. "Jonas, Jonas! Slow down! I can't keep up!"_

"_I'm going to win!" he taunts as he reaches the apple tree at the edge of the pitch. _

"_I'm going to catch you!" laughs Ellen._

"_ELLEN!" roars a voice from behind her, she looks over her shoulder. It's John. "Look out!"_

_Ellen turns back. The stone wall that separates the green from the fields is barbed wire. Beyond that it is grey, muddy and riddled with shell holes._

"_Come on slow coach!" goads Jonas, he is about to run into the barbed wire. _

_Ellen sees he is older now, he is about the age he left to go to war. "Jonas! Look out for the barbed wire! JONAS!"_

_As Ellen screams, Jonas runs into it. A loud bang resonates from somewhere, and he falls. He flails in the mud for a minute before going still. _

"_Jonas!" screams Ellen, trying to reach him. "Jonas, please! Stand up! Can you hear me?!"_

_She tries to climb over the wire, but a hand on her shoulder stops her. "Ellen," says John. _

"_I have to save him!"_

"_You can't."_

_Ellen struggles to wriggle free of his grip. "Get off! I can save him!"_

"_You can't! Wake up!"_

"_What?"_

"_You're dreaming! Wake up!"_

Ellen woke with a start. John was shaking her.

"Wha? What! What?"

"Oh good! You're awake! We're here."

John and Ellen descended from the train in Calais. The platform was buzzing with people. Many of them were young soldiers, dressed in their brown – green uniforms. John took Ellen's hand, and weaved themselves through the crowd of people. They reached the end of the platform and turned out onto the street, John let go of her hand. A couple of soldiers were lounging around by the ticket office, puffing on cigarettes. One elbowed his companion, and gestured towards Ellen. He wolf-whistled.

"Par ici , magnifique," he called, winking.

Ellen could not stop herself from giggling. "Je suis désolé, je ne comprends pas. Je ne parle pas beaucoup le français," mustered Ellen, in her rudimentary French.

"Why are you talking to those men?" snapped John.

"He wolf-whistled at me, so I was telling him I didn't understand him."

Soldier that had not wolf-whistled had walked over. He was wearing a mischievous smile on his face.

"Hello, my name is Francis. My friend Alexandre wanted to say that you are very… er… you say pretty, no?" he stammered in a thick French accent.

"Oh, well, thank you," stammered Ellen, blushing furiously. "That's very kind."

Francis laughed. "He's an idiot. You are far too pretty for him."

"Thank you…"

"Why do you-,"

John butted in. "Ellen, we have to go if you want to catch the boat in time."

Ellen turned back to Francis. "I'm sorry I have to go."

"Short but sweet eh? Safe journey Mademoiselle, and I hope your arm gets better soon," he said, gesturing to the left arm that was in the sling.

"Thank you, Francis."

Ellen turned back to John, who seized her arm and pulled her across the busy road. The grip he had on her arm was cutting off the circulation to her hand.

"John let go!"

He stopped walking. "I'm sorry. I just didn't like the look of them."

"They seemed sweet."

John started walking again, Ellen jogged to keep up with his long strides. "They all do at first, but most of them are cads."

"Cads? Those boys? They looked the same age as me!"

"I'm just saying appearances are deceiving."

John continued walking at a furious pace, with Ellen half-walking, half-trotting to keep up with him. In ten minutes they had reached the seafront and the various piers that ships that departed from them. There were a few women with baskets of white flowers milling about near the entrance to the piers.

"Pier nine!" said John, pointing. He put the suitcase down and pulled Ellen's passport and ticket out of his chest pocket.

Ellen picked up the suitcase. "Thank you, John."

"I'm not leaving you yet, I'll see you off."

The pair walked towards pier nine. As they reached it, one of the women with the flowers marched up to John.

"How is it fair, sir, that while my son is fighting, you think yourself exempt from serving your country?" she interrogated, gesturing to John's civilian clothes. A purple tweed jacket, matching waist-coat and trousers, and topping it all off, a matching bowtie.

"What?" stammered John, startled.

"I said-."

"We heard what you said!" barked Ellen. "John is serving in the Royal Army Medical Corps, as am I. What are _you_ doing for the war, may I ask?"

The woman looked stunned. "I am encouraging the men to fight!" she replied, indignantly.

"Oh push off! Have you seen the conditions in the trenches, or the injured men in the Clearing Stations? I have, you haven't, so you don't have a right to judge the men that don't want to fight!" retorted Ellen. She grabbed John's hand and pulled him away from the woman. "Come on John."

John allowed himself to be dragged along by Ellen, until they reached the queue of people boarding the ship.

"I didn't know you had such a temper," chuckled John.

"They didn't have the right to judge you."

"Still, it was brave."

"I was sticking up for you. You did save my life."

The line shuffled forward. "I had to, it was my duty as a doctor."

"You didn't have to drill through my skull, most doctors would have given up on me."

John smiled down at Ellen, a warm feeling in his chest spreading as he looked at her. "You're worth it," he shrugged.

"I'm not. There are hundreds of women that are better than me."

They were now at the front of the queue. "Like I said, you're worth it," he said, hesitating slightly before leaning down and kissing her cheek. "Safe journey home."

Then he walked away, leaving Ellen very confused.

**So here we are! Ellen's going home and John has some feelings for her! I've been a bit sickly whilst writing (mainly because of tiredness) so I hope this up to scratch. If not, please tell me what I can be doing better, and I will seek to improve! As always reviews and follows are always welcome – if you do, I will send you a gingerbread man!**


	8. Chapter 8

The ticket master checked Ellen's ticket before letting her on board. Her mind was reeling from John's kiss. It was not like being kissed on the cheek by Jonas or her father. This was different, she had felt something as he had kissed her, a sort of flickering in her stomach. _John can't like me, can he? We've only known each other a few months._ But _she_ had felt something, the only boy she had ever liked was Darrel, but Jonas had scared him off after Darrel had kissed her on May Day when she was fourteen. Jonas had gone mad, but he was not here anymore. Ellen's stomach twisted painfully as she thought of him yelling at Darrel.

She shuffled through the corridor, trying to find somewhere relatively quiet to sit. This was not difficult as many people were too afraid because of fear of attacks from German U-boats. Ellen hoped she would not meet the same fate as so many civilians and soldiers before her. Her stomach rumbled – she had not eaten since breakfast and had not packed any lunch. She wondered if there was kitchen on board where she could buy something to eat.

"Excuse me," Ellen asked one of the staff who was near-by. "Is there somewhere, where I can buy something to eat?"

"Yep, if you walk down the corridor, then take a left and go down a deck, you will find a café. It's lunchtime they probably will be selling sandwiches."

"Thank you."

Ellen set off to find the café. A few minutes and wrong-turns later Ellen found herself at the café. There were a few couples sitting at the tables chatting. She sat down at a table by the window and stared out at the harbour. The ship had yet to make sail, and she wondered if John was out there and was as mulling over his actions as much as she was. If he did like her, she definitely did not like him. _No, of course I don't like him. He's not even attractive – far too tall and that chin could take someone's eye out! And is eyes are just… beautiful, like dappled sunlight through leaves on a tree. _Ellen felt the boat starting to rock and sway as it was pulled out of the harbour by tug-boats. _Who are you trying to fool?_

She picked up the menu, trying to push John and Jonas out of her mind.

_Sandwiches:_

_Tuna and cucumber_

_Cheese and pickle_

_Ham and English mustard _

_Coronation Chicken _

_Soups (all served with bread):_

_Leek and potato_

_Chicken _

_Cockle Leekie Soup_

_Stilton and broccoli _

"Can I take your order, Madame?" enquired the waiter, walking over.

"Yes. I would like the Coronation Chicken sandwich, please."

"Very good. Are you eating with anyone?"

"No, I'm on my own."

The waiter gave her a hard stare. "I see."

Then he walked away. Ellen slouched on the chair, the waiter's disapproval of her travelling alone only worsened her mood. She hated being treated as if she were a child. _It's because I'm a young, 'vulnerable' woman, isn't it? If they knew I worked at the Casualty Clearing Station they'd be shocked, and it serves them right! I can do anything they can do!_

* * *

><p>John spent the train journey home mulling over what he had done. <em>You kissed her, you idiot! I know it was only on the cheek, but still, she's… lovely. Stop it John! One kiss from a drunk River at Christmas last year made you half fall in love with her! But Ellen… she's just… <em>John swung his legs up onto the bench, and stared out of the window, watching the trees and hills flow steadily past. _Had she been shocked? Yes. Did she return it? No. Then she doesn't like you in that way. Or… she just hasn't got to know you yet._

John descended from the train where he and Ellen had first set out on their journey. It felt odd not having her with him, as if something was missing, like having fish without custard. It took him about half an hour to walk back to the Casualty Clearing Station, from the railway station. On arrival, he was greeted with the sight of two men hauling a body wrapped in white cloth, onto a cart filled with other bodies.

"Can I help you?" John offered, striding over to help.

"No thanks mate," sighed one of the men in a Brummies' accent. "He was the last one, poor bugger."

"So many," sighed the other man. "Who are you then?"

"Dr John Smith," said John, holding out his hand.

The Brummie shook it. "Paul Tanner, this is my friend Charlie Watts."

John shook Charlie's hand too. "Please to meet you."

"So where are you from, then?" asked Paul, sticking his hands in his pockets.

"Originally from a small town just outside of London. Gallifrey, if you've ever heard of it. Though, I was travelling with my brother a lot before the war. I spent a good year or two in Africa, before he decided to get married and have children," explained John.

The two men looked impressed. "Africa? Blimey! So how come you're so pale?" laughed Charlie.

"I'm afraid I burn, rather than tan!"

"You were in Africa when this all blew up?" enquired Charlie, as John nodded. "How did you wind up here? Surely, you still be there if you're minted."

"I wanted to help people. I thought I could do more good rather than sitting back in Africa and hearing about everyone dying."

Both the men nodded, understandingly. "Good on you, mate. We better be going. Good bye John," said Paul.

"Bye," John replied, watching them strap the cart to the horse that was waiting, and walk off.

John's footsteps echoed around the courtyard as he walked across it. He could see his breath rising into the air with every breath he took, against the darkening blue sky. A few stars were already peeking out from behind the clouds, they looked like candles behind frosted windows. _Stars are always the same, wherever you are in the world. Is Ellen looking at them? I hope she is. Good night, Ellen._

* * *

><p>Of course Ellen was looking at the stars, as the ship docked in Dover at quarter-past five. It had set off late, leaving Ellen little time to make her train on time. She sighed, relieving a little tension in her shoulders. The pin-pricks of lights in the sky gave her hope that maybe the New Year would bring some benefits, even if her brother was dead. Perhaps he was up in the sky as a star with all the other dead soldiers. Ellen's mother had always told her that when people died they turned into stars.<p>

Her thoughts were broken by shouting from below her. They had finally moored the boat, and they were tying the last mooring rope into place. Ellen leaned over the railing, trying to catch a glimpse of the port. She only been to Dover when she had set off to Belgium, so had been with a collection of girls determined to do their part in the war effort.

She tore her eyes away from the mooring and decided to find her way off the ship. Ellen walked back the way she came, through the bowels of the ship. A small queue had formed at the exit of the ship. The door had been open and people were starting to trickle out. Ellen flashed a small smile at the attendant who was holding open the door, as she stepped onto the gang-way. The cold air hit her, visiously and cut through her wool-lined, herringbone, double breasted coat. She tottered slightly, before regaining her balance and staggering down the gang-way with her suitcase and no arm to steady her.

Ellen was relieved when she reached the bottom without slipping into the icy water of the English Channel. She flashed her passport at the custom's official before setting off for the station. She found it ten minutes later, and sprinted into the ticket office.

"One ticket to York please!" she panted.

The woman behind the counter laughed. "Cutting it fine, aren't you? Don't worry it won't leave without you," she said, handing Ellen her ticket.

She put the suitcase down and used her free hand to pull the correct money out of her pocket. "Thank you. Which platform is it?"

"Five. It's on this side, so you'll make it."

Ellen shoved the ticket in her coat pocket, and picked up her suitcase. She dashed out of the ticket office and ran to platform five. The guard was just closing the doors.

"Wait!" yelled Ellen, hauling her suitcase as she sprinted to the train door.

He held the door open for her. "Quick, quick miss!"

He ushered her onto the train, and then slammed the door shut. She heard the guard blow his whistle and the train slowly started to rock back and forth. Ellen stumbled through the narrow corridors of the carriage, trying to find an empty compartment. After five minutes of walking, and hitting her suitcase against the wall of the carriage, she found an empty one. With ease she slid open the door, remembering John falling into the compartment when they were just leaving Ypres.

She sat down on one of the benches, but did not haul her suitcase onto one of the luggage racks above her head, knowing her five foot frame would not allow her to get her suitcase down at the end of her journey. She gazed out of the window as the lights from the houses of Dover whizzed by in a blur. It would not be long until she saw the lights of her own home in the distance.

_I'll be home soon. I'll be safe, but Jonas won't be there._

* * *

><p><strong>Thank you so much for reading! Personally, I don't think this is my best chapter due to the fact that I'm not brilliant at writing travelling scenes, but don't worry Ellen will be home soon! I'm trying to weave in the romance as subtly as possible because during the early 20<strong>**th**** Century relationships had to be purely platonic before marriage. Additionally, Ellen's not the boldest person in the world when it comes to romance. Please review, follow and/or favourite, so I can send you some kind of baked good!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Finally, another chapter! Hurrah! Just a little warning, without giving too much away this chapter may be a little iffy for some, so by all means if you find Ellen's little bit distressing don't continue to read. I hope you enjoy. **

* * *

><p>There were many people milling about at York Station as Ellen stepped out of the carriage. She was buffeted and jostled around as she tried to exit the platform. Everyone seemed to need to go somewhere. Both Ellen's arms were aching as she found the way out, her grip on her suitcase was starting to slip, but just then one of the rushing commuters crashed into Ellen, sending her suitcase flying behind her. She ducked back and knelt down to pick it up, but someone else knocked her onto her onto her face. Ellen was now in serious danger of being trampled by the crowd of people.<p>

The crowd thinned slightly, so she crawled forward on her hands and knees towards her suitcase, as another train pulled into the station. Ellen scrambled forward, desperate to reach it now, tears of frustration building in her eyes, she grasped the handle of her suitcase. She hauled herself to her feet in a new sea of legs and dull coloured dressed, coats and suits. Stumbling forward under the weight of the case, Ellen stumbled into a smarmy-looking man. He shoved her roughly onto the floor again.

"Watch where you're going," he snarled.

"You would be stumbling around if you had a broken arm and a heavy suitcase!" Ellen snapped back.

The man stepped forward, threateningly. "Brave aren't you?"

"Leave me alone," she muttered, staggering backwards, slightly.

He walked towards her, Ellen fell backwards as she stripped on the hem of her dress. "Nah, oh look you've fallen over. Why don't I help you up?"

He clutched her arm, pulling her to her feet and started dragging her along the platform. "Get off you brute! Get off!"

"Shut up!" he growled.

Ellen tried to brush away the tears forming in the corners of her eyes. "Get off!" she shrieked. "Help!"

"Shut up, you little harpy!"

Ellen dug her heels into the ground, trying to stop him from dragging her any further. _What is he going to do to me? _Sheer terror flooded through her body as she thought of what could happen. Ellen dug her nails into his arm. He grunted. A few people were staring, but many were too preoccupied with their own business to heed her cries.

"Please! Help me!" she screamed, tears pouring like an April shower down her face.

"Ellen! ELLEN!" roared a voice from the crowd. "Get off of my daughter!"

The crowd stopped moving as a short, stocky, man forced his way through the cloud of people. The man slackened his grip.

"Get off, you scum bag!" he thundered, hauling Ellen from the man's grip.

"Dad!" she yelled, tears of relief now falling from her eyes.

Ellen threw down the suitcase as her father enfolded her in a bear-hug. "It's good to see you, Ellen."

The smarmy man started to edge away.

"No you don't!" growled Ellen's Dad, seizing the man by scruff of his neck. "What gives you the right to think you can man-handle my daughter?!"

"Well, erm, um," stammered the man.

"If I ever lay eyes on you again, I will make you sorry you're alive. Do you understand?"

The man nodded, rapidly. He scampered off into the packed station.

Ellen's father turned to her. "Come on. Let's get you home."

* * *

><p>John collapsed onto his bed. There had been a surprise attack on German trenches by the Allies and the Casualty Clearing Stations had not been informed. They were flooded, like flood-planes in April, and the staff barely coped. Man upon man was wheeled into the theatre to be operated on. Some died on the table, others afterwards and some, very few, were still alive. John rolled over onto his stomach and screamed into his pillow, like he had when he had found out about Idris's death. It was agonizing to think that so many men were dying. <em>I'm supposed to be helping! Why do I feel like I'm killing more people than I save?<em>

Tonight had been worse than before, something was different. So many off the men that had died in the courtyard had, had breathing difficulties, had trouble seeing clearly or at all. John had heard of the gas attacks on Allied soldiers by the Germans, but had never had to treat the men affected. Chlorine gas was lethal – John was under no illusion of how lethal it could be. Idris's death had proved that. She may have lived if it were not for the barrels of liquid chlorine in the cellar of the pharmacy. They had all died, her whole family just wiped out. John rolled back over onto his back.

_This is no time to get emotional about her, again._ _Have a wash, get all of this grime and dirt off of you and you'll feel a whole lot better._ He sat up, this head spinning slightly due to the sudden movement. He looked over at the cold, empty hearth and suddenly realized how cold it was. There was no more wood in the box John kept by his door and he needed water to wash. He swung his Daddy-Long-Legs, legs off of his bed and stood up. His quiff brushed the ceiling of his room.

The old out-building had become John's temporary home for the past two years since the war had started in 1914, it was now nearing the end of 1916 and he felt more at home in this room than anywhere else. Drawings, sketches and photos lined the walls and were stuck around his mirror on the old, rickety dresser. John crossed the room, and picked up the basin that was perched on the dresser. His eyes quickly flited across the sketch of Ellen he had done, whilst she had been treating a soldier. A stray strand of hair had been falling from her head scarf and he had decided she was one of the most breath-taking things he had ever seen. It was all the more reason to have a wash and feel normal around such a beautiful being.

With a sigh, John heaved the basin off of the dresser and left his room. He stepped outside. The whole place was silent, almost as if the buildings were exhausted from the trauma of the day. He crossed the courtyard, averting his eyes from the rows sheet-covered dead bodies that were laid out on stretchers behind the hospital building. Reaching the shed door, he yanked it open. There were only a few blocks of wood left, but they would suffice for a fire. John awkwardly fitted them under his left arm, then walked back across the yard to the water pump to fill the basin. After filling the basin, he went back to his room.

John did not want to think about the bodies lying in the courtyard. He just wanted to feel happy in the endless despair he felt for humanity. It took him several attempts to light the fire. The matches shrivelled up without even scorching the wood. In the end he resolved to use the discarded letters from his family was tinder. These worked better. Slowly, the concern his family held for him melted away before his eyes. When the fire was roaring, John hung the wash basin over it and let the water heat through, whilst this was happening he stripped off his shirt and the rest of his military uniform, so he was just in his underwear.

John took the basin off the fire, dipped his flannel in the water, and started to wash away the grime that was encasing his body. He was not aware of his door creaking open.

"Hello John."

He whirled around. Amy was leaning in the doorway, a flirtatious look on her face.

"Amy! I'm not wearing anything! Get out!"

She laughed. "No, I'm fine here. Who knew what you were hiding under that shirt?"

John looked down at his chest. He was far more muscled than he had been when he had started serving at the Station. John had never considered himself 'butch', however, he had noticed that the muscles on his chest and torso were defined and hard, almost like the ones in Roman temples. Perhaps he was not that skinny teenager anymore. Still, he could feel himself blushing in Amy's presence.

"That's enough Pond!" he commanded, finding his shirt and pulling it on. "What do you want?"

"That's enough? I said one sentence!"

"Well I'm not in the mood for teasing…"

"Obviously, seeing as you're undressed."

"Pond!"

Amy roared with laughter. "I'm joking! I wanted to ask you how you were! And how Ellen was when you said goodbye."

John looked like a tomato now. "Ellen was fine, and so am I. Would you please step outside so I can put some clothes please?"

"No. You've got a shirt on already."

"Fine," muttered John, grabbing his trousers and pulling them on. "As I said, Ellen was fine but…"

"But what?"

"Promise you won't say anything awful?"

"Now why would I do that?" Amy said, giving John an innocent look.

He rolled his eyes. "I know you Pond! Anyway… I sort of kissed her on the cheek before I left…"

"And?"

"Well, honestly, I think I like her and not in a friendly way…"

Amy stared at him. "John!" she squealed, punching him on the shoulder.

"What?!"

"You fancy her!"

"Yes, yes I know! The problem is _she _doesn't know, and well, Ellen is very innocent…"

Amy thought for a moment. "And her brother has just died. I know! You should write to her."

"And let her know how I feel?"

"No! That's a face to face sort of thing, and you don't know if she likes you or even if what you feel will last, so write to her get to know her."

"You are a wise person, Pond."

Amy grinned, "I know, now get to work, I will see you in the morning!"

With that, Amy departed. John chuckled to himself, pulled up a chair to his dresser and started to write.

* * *

><p><strong>Hello again, my lovelies! Sorry for the gap, the last week of college was MANIC and I have been given a load of holiday work to do, so I'm sorry if this chapter's not up to the standard they usually are at, plus I'm very tired and ill. But still I hope you enjoyed and will favourite, follow andor review! **


	10. Chapter 10

Ellen's head nodded against her Father's shoulder as the bus drove along the pot-holed, winding, Yorkshire roads. She had been so tired after the ordeal at the station, she did not care where she slept. He had pulled her away from the station immediately and found somewhere quiet where she could cry herself out against his chest.

"Oh Ellen, what are we going to do with you?" he had murmured, stroking her hair and rocking her gently. "I should have let Jonas teach you how to punch someone."

In spite of her distress, Ellen had given a watery smile. "He did teach me, Dad, you just never found out, and I forgot how to."

"Well that was Jonas, wasn't it? Always finding trouble."

"He never followed trouble, it always came looking for him."

"I'm sure that's what he told you."

The bus lurched again, waking Ellen up. Her Dad smiled at her.

"You've finished catching flies then?"

Ellen huffed. "I do not 'catch flies'!"

"I could have sworn I saw a few fly in there, though you may have scared them off with your snoring."

"I do not snore!" hissed Ellen, turning a deep shade of magenta.

He poked her in the ribs. "Of course you don't," he teased, winking.

Ellen turned away from him, annoyed but with a smile spreading across her lips.

* * *

><p>The bus finally rolled into Gower around ten O'clock. The whole village was black like coal, apart from the little pin-pricks of light from the street lamps that stood aglow during the night. There was only the rustle of leaves in the trees and the occasional chirp from a nocturnal animal to accompany Ellen and her Father as they trekked up the hill to the aptly named 'North Street' where their home was. Ellen had not realized how much she had missed her home as they got closer to it. She somehow had not missed her mother's cooking or Bramble, her family's pet Golden Retriever, or the constant smell of baking bread as the house was attached to the bakery. As it all came flooding back to her, Ellen felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes. She stopped dead as her Father reached the gate and wall that separated the front garden from the pavement. The latch opened with a metallic click. He turned to Ellen.<p>

"Come on girlie," he said. "I don't want to freeze out here."

She nodded, a huge lump in her throat.

"Ellen, what's wrong?"

"I – I just realized how much I missed home. It's like I didn't have time to think about missing home."

"Well you're here now, so you don't have to miss us. Come on, Bramble will be over-joyed to see you," her Father smiled, holding out his hand.

Ellen took it, and let him pull her through the gate.

Upon entering the house, a breath of warm, confectionary-smelling air wafted into Ellen's face. A dim flicker of light was coming from the living room – her Mother must have started a fire to warm up the house for the night.

"Cath! We're home!" called Ellen's Father, his voice carrying through the house.

The door at the end of the hall opened and another waft of the smell of home-cooking drifted around her. Light filled the dim hallway, silhouetting her Mother's petite frame.

"Ellen!" she cried, pulling Ellen into her arms – her Devonshire accent had always refused to give way to a deep Yorkshire one. "What have you been up to?"

Ellen grimaced as her bad arm was squashed. "Trying to save innocent lives in No Man's Land."

"More like letting a stupid doctor letting you on a suicide mission and then getting you blown up in No Man's Land," muttered her Father. "I hope he's suitably punished."

Ellen twisted around. "Who John? No! He's lovely, my injuries are my fault!"

"That's not what the letter said!"

"I agreed to go into the trenches _and _climbed over the parapet _without_ his permission. I wouldn't have been hurt if I hadn't have been in No Man's Land!"

"Ellen-."

"Stop it, both of you!" interjected Catherine. "You've been in the door two minutes and you're already arguing. Let's have something to eat and put this to rest until tomorrow."

Both of them nodded.

Catherine lifted the fish pie out of the oven and set it on top of the stove. Ellen was thankful this was a dish she could eat with just one arm, rather than having to use a knife and fork.

"Steve, could you pass me the plates please?" her Mother asked her Father.

He obliged and pulled them down from the cupboard. "Hang on. Three, not four," he said, putting one back. "I forgot Jonas…"

The whole room suddenly felt heavy. Ellen looked at her lap, trying not to cry – she had shed enough tears already and wanted to enjoy her stay, however long it lasted. She looked up at her parents, who, in the orangey, electric light looked appeared to look older than their years as they looked at each other. They had lost two children – Jonas and Annie, Ellen's twin who had died when she was three from pneumonia. They had almost lost Ellen too. She suddenly felt so guilty about her actions, she had been unconscious for three days whilst she recovered from John's lifesaving surgery – in that time she could have easily died. Ellen had survived by the skin of her teeth, how would her parents have coped if she had died, especially with Jonas's passing too.

"I'm sorry," she said, suddenly.

Both her parents looked surprised. "What for?" enquired her Mother, setting Ellen's plate in front of her.

"Nearly dying."

"That's nothing to be sorry for," replied her Father, miffed.

Ellen took a shaky breath. "Yes it is. I knew it was Jonas's regiment that came into the hospital the night he died. Yet, I felt the need to try and save Darrel's life even though I knew the likelihood of Jonas being dead was greater than him being alive. I just thought there could have been a chance it was him in No Man's Land, not Darrel and he could have spent the rest of the war, here, safe rather than fighting."

Her parents were silent for a minute before Steve sat down across from her and took both of her hands in his own. Ellen looked at his short, gnarled fingers, not wanting to look at his grey-blue eyes.

"Ellen, look at me please."

Ellen lifted her gaze to meet his – well the eye that looked directly in front, anyway, the other had a squint which meant it poked out to the left. "Don't apologise for trying to help someone in need. If you had of died out there, we would have been proud that you died trying to save someone."

"It's just after Jonas and Annie-."

"Don't think about Annie. You barely knew her and Jonas… Yes we will never have a body to bury but he died serving his country like the other men from the village, so your Mother and I at least have comfort in knowing we're not the only ones grieving."

Catherine sat down next to her. "Come on girlie, Jonas would be telling us to 'shut up and eat', so you honour his memory by listening to him for once. I know he would have loved that," laughed Catherine, lifting her fork to her mouth.

Steve nodded. "He would have been shocked."

"He would never have shut up about it!" giggled Ellen.

"See, Ellen, I've learnt that death is not only a time to grieve for someone but to celebrate them and remember their life. If you let every death of every person you knew make you depressed and sad, then life really isn't worth living," explained her Father, smiling at her amused expression.

Ellen smiled at her Father, as she heard her brother's laughter at the back of her mind, teasing and joking as she started to 'shut up and eat'.

* * *

><p><strong>Another chapter done and… ONLY ONE SLEEP 'TIL CHRISTMAS EVERYBODY! ONLY ONE SLEEP 'TIL THE DOCTOR WHO CHRISTMAS SPECIAL AND ONLY A WEEK UNTIL THE MUSKETEERS STARTS! I CAN'T EVEN!<strong> **Anyway… eh hem… to business. Ellen's parents are named after mine (please don't stalk me)! Did you spot the little Sherlock reference I threw in there? And… I now have TUMBLR! I have decided to throw myself down that hole… so please, please follow me as well as this story! My user name is the same, just without the capitals and my blog name is 'Trying not to fail at life' (let's be honest, we're all trying not to fail at life)! Again, please favourite, follow and/or review and I will send you some cheesecake (yes I make cheesecake now – white chocolate and raspberry cheesecake, cheesecake is cool). **


	11. Chapter 11

Sunlight flickered through Ellen's bedroom window as a new day dawned. It took a moment for her to remember where she was. _I'm home. _The smell of freshly baked bread drifted up to her room, and she could hear the bell in the shop tinkling every so often as customers came and went with their various baked goods. It was almost like life before the war. Ellen rolled over, away from the window and glanced at her alarm-clock, it was almost nine o'clock. _They must be feeling sorry me if they let me sleep in that late! _Yawning, Ellen pushed her eiderdown off with her right arm and pulled herself out of bed. She pulled on her dressing-gown and slippers and made her way down stairs.

Upon reaching the landing, Bramble came tearing out of the kitchen and jumped up, pawing at her nightdress.

"Hey boy!" Ellen laughed, kneeling down and scratching his ears.

"Oh Bramble, calm down!" hushed Catherine, bustling out of the kitchen. "How's your arm, Ellen?"

"Fine thanks, Mum."

"Good, I've got some breakfast on for you and your Father wants you to help in the bakery," said Catherine, as Ellen gave her a quizzical look. "Well don't think just because you're hurt, we're not going to work you to the bone!"

Ellen snorted and shook her head, rubbing Bramble's belly. "You're too soft for that."

"Well, I suppose now that you mention it, your Father is the soft one. And stop pampering that dog – he gets enough attention when Marian comes around!"

She giggled, stood up and followed her Mother into the kitchen. "It smells good," remarked Ellen.

"I hope it tastes as good as it smells. It's bacon and eggs!"

"Scrambled?" sniffed Ellen.

"Of course!" chuckled Catherine.

Ellen sat down and let her Mother serve her, whilst Bramble sniffed about under the table, hoping idly that something would drop onto the floor. When she was younger, Ellen would feed him little titbits whilst Jonas pulled funny faces at her across the table. Bramble rested his head on her lap and gazed up at her with 'I-love-you-so-much' puppy-dog eyes. Unable to resist, Ellen fed him some bacon rind.

"I saw that!" snapped Catherine, grinning. "Bramble! Go to your bed!"

He gave Ellen a sad look before departing. "I only gave him a little bit!"

"Well, he'll get fat if you keep giving him things."

"With the amount of exercise he gets, I doubt he ever will. It only takes a startled pheasant to get him to go mad."

"We'll have to agree to disagree but you need to eat up, get dress and then go and help your Father."

Ellen ate the rest of her breakfast, hampered by her Mother bickering with her. Ellen deposited the dish in the sink and then went upstairs to get changed. Her Mother had laid out a dark blue skirt, a matching light blue blouse and brooch for her. Ellen tugged the night-gown over her head and then pulled on the clothes. She sat down in front of the mirror and pinned her hair up in a messy bun, deciding to use the pins with the little flowers on the ends as she could afford to be a little frivolous now she was at home. Finally, Ellen wriggled her feet into her old leather shoes – they were too small, obviously she had grown in the past few months, though it had probably been for the last time as she was now eighteen.

Ellen clattered back down the stairs and stepped outside into the garden. She vaulted the wall to the left and entered the bakery. It was blisteringly hot in the kitchen with the ovens blazing. Her Father's two apprenti

ces were hauling trays of bread out of the ovens. Both Allen and Sam smiled at her as she entered.

"You alright?" wheezed Allen, pulling down a tray.

"Fine thanks."

"Your Dad's out front," said Sam.

"Thanks," replied Ellen, turning away and walking into the shop, behind the counter.

The shop looked bare compared to the last time Ellen had been in there. There seemed to be less products up for sale and there had been bread from all different countries in baskets that had lined the wall behind the counter, but now there were only the British favourites, a few French and other European, some others Ellen did not even recognise and absolutely no German breads what so ever. _'Bulkie Roll'_, _'American muffin'_, _'Pullman loaf'_, Ellen read. Her Father bustled up behind her, replacing the empty basket of whole-grain loaves with a full one. The smell coming off of them was divine.

"You alright?" enquired Steve, checking the basket was secure on the rack.

"Yes, it's just the shop looks slightly emptier than before," Ellen replied, turning to face the shop floor.

Steve rubbed his cheek. "Yes it is. The German U-boats have been sinking the merchant convoys so we can't get as many foreign goods. The local produce we stock is fine though, we'll never run out of jams, chutneys or cheeses."

"I suppose, though it is a shame."

"Of course, but you need to get the shop open."

"I thought it was already open!"

"No – that was a delivery from Manor Farm. They brought everything through the front as they were late and we'd already fired up the ovens. Come on, you know the drill, apron on, board outside, open sign in the window and keep the door open," instructed her Father, returning to the kitchen.

Ellen took the keys from the hook, they hung on and walked out from behind the counter and unlocked the door. The specials board was just inside it. Ellen hauled it outside, the cold pricked at her skin as she leant the specials board against the low wall that gave way to the shop window. She stopped for a second to admire the view. North Street was at the top of the hill, so the whole village could be seen from the top of it. The higgledy-piggledy roofs cascaded all the way down the hill to the main road to York. The day was so bright and clear, the frost on the roof-tops of the houses sparkled like crystals and reflected the light into the forget-me-not blue sky that had wisps of fluffy white clouds hanging lazily above them all.

"Are you open?"

Ellen's daydream cracked like a stone being thrown at a window. "What? Oh yes we are, I was just putting the specials board out," gabbled Ellen, jumping around. "Marian, how lovely to see you again!"

Marian Miller smiled demurely at Ellen. She was devastatingly beautiful with her periwinkle blue eyes, pale, heart-shaped face and dark, mahogany coloured locks that were currently put up in a tight bun at the back of her head. Though this did not seem to stop a few unruly ones from escaping and dangling free. "Good morning Ellen, it's lovely to see you too. I heard you were injured."

"I am," Ellen muttered, gesturing sheepishly to her left arm.

"Oh! I see. Sorry, I've been a little distracted of late."

"That's fine, would you like to come in?"

"Yes, I need a few things."

Ellen led the way inside. She paused for a minute, to put the 'Open' sign in the window. She pulled on an apron that was in a box, folded under the counter but left the strings untied as she could not tie a bow with one hand.

"Right then," muttered Ellen, pushing her hair out of the way.

Marian picked up a block of pre-cut and wrapped cheddar from one of the tables and brought it over to the counter.

"Is there anything else?" asked Ellen, checking the price written on the cheese's wrapper and typing it into the till.

"Yes, can I have a white loaf of bread please?"

Ellen nodded and pulled one off of the shelf behind her. She wrapped it up and put it on the counter. "Here you are. That's three shillings."

Marian did not notice her. She was looking down at her thumbs.

"Marian!" Ellen said again.

She jumped. "Sorry, I was just…" she murmured, taking the loaf and cheese and depositing them the basket she was carrying.

"What? Are you alright?" Ellen asked, concerned as she saw tears pricking at the corners of Marian's eyes.

She nodded, wiping them away. "Fine. How much was it? Three shillings, yes?"

"Yes. Are you sure you're alright?" Ellen asked again, taking the money as Marian handed it to her.

She bobbed her head and with a swish of her skirts, walked out of the shop.

Ellen hesitated for a few seconds before following her. Marian was about a hundred yards from the shop as Ellen skidded out the door. She stopped, watching Marian's retreating back. _She'll be fine, she just needs a bit of time! Ellen,_ another voice muttered, _you know all too well why she's upset – ask her in._

"I know why you're upset," Ellen called after her. Marian whipped around, eyes streaming. "Come inside. We can talk after work and I'm sure Bramble will want to see you."

Startled, Marian just nodded and followed Ellen back inside.

* * *

><p><strong>Hello! I'm back - sorry this took so long I have had homework galore and a lot of family to visit over Christmas, so this was the best I could do. Sorry if this chapter seems a little slower - the next one will speed up the plot (and romance ;) ) a little more so I will be able to finish it at some point (no idea when but that's a good thing, right?). As always favourie, follow andor review, also please follow me on Tumblr! If you are a 'Musketeers' fan, please, please, please PM so we can fangirl and answer the ultimate question: why does D'artagnan not have a hat yet, like the rest of the Musketeers? Answer this question or favourite, follow and/or review and I will send you some sort of baked good! **


	12. Chapter 12

The walk to the post box had been about two miles. _Two miles in the sodding rain – she'd better answer_. John pulled the envelope out of his pocket, trying not to smudge the ink with his damp hands. It read:

_Miss Ellen Stoker,_

_17 North Street, _

_Gower, _

_Yorkshire, _

_England,_

_YO11 4NS_

He had pondered over doing the address in French, but he realised when it got to the sorting office in England, they probably would not deliver it because they could not read it. John was more worried about the content rather than the address. He had fretted over it continually until Amy had come in and told him to 'man up' about the whole situation.

"For goodness sake, John! How many trees have you wasted?"

"As many as it takes to get this right!"

"Listen to me! Just tell her how you feel! How do you feel?"

"Well, she's very pleasant company, funny too and pretty."

"Oh you lady-killer!" Amy cried sarcastically.

"Stop it Amy! You can get any man you want with the drop of a hat – I'm different, I doubt anyone's interested in me!"

"Oh John, you really need to stop and look around."

"What?!"

"Doesn't matter! Why don't I write it?"

"That might be better."

"Well, tough, I'm not – you're a big boy, I'll help you but not do it for you."

"Fine," John huffed.

"You said the kiss on the cheek might have left her feeling awkward, so start: Dear Ellen, I know my actions may have left you with some unanswered questions…"

The rest of the sentence and his thoughts were sealed in the letter with Ellen's name on it. John looked at the address one more time. The ink was bleeding into the rest of the paper, soon the words would be unreadable and he would not be able to pluck up the courage to write another letter. Taking a deep breath, John pushed the envelope into the opening of the letter box. He did not hear it land at the bottom but it was too late to regret anything he had written. John just hoped Ellen would understand.

* * *

><p>Marian sat alone in front of the fire as Ellen entered with a tray, on which rested a tea pot, tea cups and saucers, a jug of milk, pot of sugar and two tea spoons. She was afraid of dropping the tray, as she was balancing it one her right hand. Marian's pale, porcelain skin looked golden by the orangey glow of the fire. She had been silent since Ellen had invited her in – she was usually so chatty, but not in a gossipy way. She usually talked about books or politics, the former Ellen's favourite subject, she had just finished <em>Jane Eyre <em>by Charlotte Bronte. But now she sat as quiet as a mouse, staring at the fire with a vacant expression on her face. Ellen put the tray down on the coffee table in front of the fire and the two armchairs, one which Marian was currently occupied.

"Marian, do you want tea?" asked Ellen, trying to rouse Marian. "Marian?"

She blinked and looked around at Ellen. "Yes please," she whispered.

Ellen poured the tea. "Milk, sugar?"

"Just milk," she said. "Why did you invite me in?"

"You looked sad. I don't like you being sad."

"So you offer me tea?"

Ellen handed Marian the cup, then made herself comfortable in her own chair. "One, you're my friend so of course I'd invite you in, two, I'm not very good at comforting people or giving advice, and three, we're British – what else was I going to offer you?"

Marian gave a small smile and sipped her tea. "Have you suddenly learnt to be more patriotic whilst working in the hospital?"

"No but tea is a great comforter, as are friends."

"You want to know why I was crying?" sighed Marian, sipping the tea again.

"Well it was a little odd for you to burst into tears right in front of me," replied Ellen.

Marian took a deep breath, she looked emotional again. "It concerns your brother."

"Ah."

Ellen remembered well Marian, the beauty of the village falling for the misfit that was her older brother. Jonas had changed when he had started his courting with Marian – the 'I'll pick a fight with anyone' boy disappeared and was replaced with a young gentleman who cared deeply for the carefree, mahogany haired sweetheart of the village. Marian was known for her charity work but still rambled through the woods like a young doe. Jonas had fallen so deeply, it was almost as if he were living in a dream, Ellen had been so surprised – he had planned romantic dates, mainly walks in around the woods and she had gained a valuable friend. Marian had taught Ellen told what books to read and how to act in company, much to Jonas's amusement. Ellen recalled the time just before Jonas had gone to fight and she had left for the CCS.

"So make sure you sit up, back straight and remember eye contact when you're talking to people," Marian had instructed, whist demonstrating.

"Yes," Ellen muttered, trying to tap it into her brain. "What about making friends? How do I know who to trust?"

"Talk to them, get to know them but make sure they're not the most boring donkeys in the world."

"Donkeys?!"

"You'd be surprised, some of the women can be sad little flies – just lazing around with nothing to do," Marian had laughed.

"So like Ellen then?" Jonas had called from the doorway.

He had been in his Army uniform, as he had just been about to go to training for that day. He had been leaning against the door, Marian had looked up and taken a sharp breath.

"What is it, my love? Is it the uniform?"

Marian had nodded. "The Army becomes you so well, Jonas. When are you leaving?"

"In about ten minutes," he had said, coming forward and kneeling down in front of the armchair.

She had looked into his hazel eyes. "Do you have to go? The trenches are awful, and I don't think I could live without you if you died."

"I won't die. I wouldn't leave you and, Elle of course. Who'll keep her in check?"

"Oi!"

"It's true, smelly."

Ellen had jumped up. "I am not smelly! I think I will go and make some tea to calm me down!"

After flouncing out of the room, Ellen had watched them through the crack in the door. "Sorry, I just wanted to get her out of here because I wanted to talk to you."

"What is it?"

Jonas had taken a deep breath. "I love you. I want you to know that before I go. It's my final training day today and I ship out the day after tomorrow so I don't know if I'll see you. I love you and if I die-"

"You won't."

"If I die, please move on but remember me for a while. When you fall in love again, forget about me don't let me get in the way of your new love."

"Jonas… I don't know if I can love anyone like I love you."

Jonas had leant forward, his face close to her. "You are beautiful, love, any man would be lucky to have you."

"And I'm glad it's you."

Jonas had kissed her. At that point Ellen had turned away and went to make the tea. She had returned later to find them still in their embrace. She had hated to tell Jonas that he had, had to leave.

"I loved him so much, Ellen. And I feel so guilty."

"Why would you feel guilty? There was nothing you could do for him."

"It's not that… I heard that Jonas was dead and that you had been hurt too. For a while I wished it was you that had died and not him."

Ellen was silent for a moment. "Why?"

"I love him."

"How long for?"

"Up until I saw you today."

"What?!"

"Ellen, I'm sorry, I love him so much. I know he's dead but I can't stop my feelings. I was angry that Jonas was dead and I hoped that by some twist of fate you had died instead of him. Ellen-"

"Stop. Marian-"

"Ellen, I'm sorry-"

"I just thought we had a better friendship than that…"

"I know. I felt I needed to tell you."

"Why because you feel guilty?"

"No-"

"You don't feel guilty? You wanted me to be dead?!"

"I love him!"

Ellen stood up. "And you think that justifies wanting me to be dead? What would Jonas think?"

"Don't talk about him, like you'd know what he'd think!"

"He's my brother, of course I'd know!"

"Ellen, he had a whole other life you never knew about - you were just his pet!"

Ellen had had enough, she grabbed Marian by the wrists, pulling her out of the chair. "Get out!"

She stood up, a char grin on her face. "I knew him better than you – I knew what he'd want."

Marian flounced out of the room. Ellen rushed ahead of her and opened the door. Her mind was whirling with grief and despair, Marian had always been a friend, confident but she had turned like a cobra, spitting poison. She heard the front door slam shut and slid down the living room door, head in her hands.

"Help me Jonas, please."

* * *

><p><strong>Hello again! I know it's getting longer in between my updates but I promise I am not giving up! I've got a lot on my plate at the moment what with work and college. Some excitingromantic stuff is about to happen so please bear with me! Everything will be fine and I will send you a cake if you favourite, follow and/or review.**


	13. Chapter 13

**I'm sorry it has been so long! Please enjoy this chapter! See you at the bottom…**

Since her incursion with Marian, Ellen had found herself falling deeper into a put of despair and desperation. She realized that everyone she saw either looked at her with a degree of pity and sadness or, if they were Marian's friends, they would throw her scathing looks and start whispering as soon as she was directly out of earshot. Unable to face the reality that she was not wanted, Ellen had begun to lock herself away from the outside world – her parents were desperately worried about her. Ellen had never exactly been a shrinking violet. On the fourth evening she was home, Ellen had come down the stairs to make a cup of tea to hear her parents talking in the living room.

"I'm worried about Ellen, Steve," her Mother said.

Her Father sighed. "I know, I don't know why she feels the need to lock herself away like this. She's never done it before – do you think it's because of Jonas?"

"No, well he might have been a factor in it, but I've been talking to Edward, Marian's father. Apparently, they had a little incursion the other day."

"How so?"

"Well, all I gleaned from Edward was that the pair of them had an argument, and Marian came home in floods of tears. Something about wishing Ellen was dead instead of Jonas."

"Marian wishes Ellen was dead instead of Jonas?"

"Something like that… I don't think that's it though, Marian and Ellen were almost inseparable before she left, Edward thinks the argument is an excuse for Marian to keep away from Ellen. To what end I don't know but it seems a little odd, don't you think?"

Ellen was perched on the stairs, listening to her Father's response. "Yes, I mean Marian's not malicious but I've heard some of the girls whispering when they come into the bakery about her, as if Marian's been spreading rumours. Why on earth would she do that, unless it's to make Ellen unpopular which seems stupid to me because, well, Ellen's never been that popular."

Her Mother considered this. "True, she was always running around with the boys at break time. She hated playing football, so went gallivanting through the woods with Jake and the other boys he played with. Gosh, I remember the amount of tears and mud stains on her skirts from when she came home!"

"She never wanted to play with the girls – Jonas may have had something to do with that."

Ellen could not listen to her parents any longer. She did not want to think of the days where the other girls in her class would leave her out of their groups when they paired up for drawing or sewing. 'Icky Ellen' they called her, when she came back from the woods covered in grass stains and mud. The teachers had something to say about it:

"Ellen, why don't you go skipping with the other girls this break time?"

"No thank you, Miss."

"Why not?"

"Jake said he saw a dead rabbit in the woods this morning – we're going to dissect it. He's even got his anatomy book with him! We can know what all the insides parts are, like the kidneys, the liver-."

"That's enough Ellen," Miss Jenson had said, holding up her hand. "That's not appropriate behaviour for a little girl!"

"Why not? All the other girls are boring! They don't want to do anything with their lives – they just want to sit and sew all the time!"

"Ellen Stoker, that's enough! Jake Allen can be a ruffian for the rest of his life but you cannot. You are a _girl_, how will dissecting a rabbit help you more than sewing?"

"That's easy, Miss."

"Really, why?"

"Sewing won't help me become a doctor! I need to know all the body parts to become a doctor!"

"Ellen Stoker, you listen to me, and you listen carefully. Women cannot become doctors – you are far too emotional to become a doctor, as are all of us, so give up this delusional dream. You will become a seamstress or work in a factory before you get married. Being a doctor would mean no man would want to marry you."

Ellen had considered her response. "Well then, I don't want to get married if that's the case. I want to be a doctor, not a wife if it will stop me doing what I want to do!"

She had marched out of the classroom before Miss Jenson could reply. Ellen still held the belief she would be a doctor before she was thirty. If that meant a life without love, then she would have to grin and bear it, no matter if she was alone for her entire life. Tiptoeing back to her room, Ellen lay down on her bed, exhausted by the memories she had just relived. _I've never been normal have I? Mum wouldn't have had me any other way, but Dad… He's come round to it. I wonder if Dr Song will help me? _Was Ellen's last thought before she drifted off to sleep.

A light covering of snow had fallen as Ellen awoke the next morning. She had got up and tugged open her curtains with her good arm to see the white blanket that had drifted over the landscape. Her breath fogged up the glass as she looked out – the snow lay completely untouched in the early morning sun, it glittered like billions of little crystals. From somewhere far off, Ellen could hear the dawn chorus start – it was one of the only parallels that existed between the Flanders fields and Gower, the sound of birds in the morning. Even with the constant shelling, the birds remained hopeful, as if they had no idea of the loss and death that was going on around them. Birds were hope – the dawn of a new day.

After washing and dressing, Ellen went downstairs. Her Father was up and in the Bakery, starting the loaves that would feed the war-tired nation. Her Mother, unusually, was not up yet, so Ellen decided to start making breakfast. It was harder than she had imagined with only one arm but she managed none the less, and soon had a pan of thick porridge bubbling away on the stove.

"Good morning Ellen," said Catherine, bustling into the kitchen. "Sorry I'm up so late, the cold kept me up last night."

"That's fine. Help yourself to some porridge, I'm going to light the fire in the Living Room."

Ellen scuttled away. The bucket of wood chippings was full, so all she had to do was lay the fire and get it started. The room was deathly cold, and Ellen's fingers shook as she tried to get the wood to take the flame from the match she was holding. Bramble came sniffing up behind her. He sneezed and scattered the wood chippings everywhere.

"Bram!" cried Ellen, giving him a shove.

Her Mother came bustling in. "What is it?" she asked.

"Bram's being an idiot, so I can't get the fire lit," explained Ellen.

"I'll do that. Go and have your breakfast, I think there's a letter for you on the table."

Filled with curiosity, Ellen stood up and brushed off her dress, leaving her Mother to light the fire. After helping herself to the porridge, she sat down at the table. The letter sat in front of her, teasing her. It read in italic, slightly smudged handwriting:

_Miss Ellen Stoker,_

_17 North Street, _

_Gower, _

_Yorkshire, _

_England,_

_YO11 4NS_

The suspense was unbearable, Ellen tore open the letter as best she could with only one hand. She soaked in the words.

_Dear Ellen, _

_I know my actions in Calais may have left you feeling a little confused, so I feel the need to explain my actions. The truth of the matter is that you are a very lovely young lady, and I thought I was comforting you kissing your cheek but now I realise that it may have been interpreted in a different way. I am sorry if I have cause you any distress. Anyway, I hope you will forgive me… I am not exactly the most socially apt person. _

_Amy tells me that I must ask you how you are, and tell you how things are here, so here we go. We had a massive influx of people a couple of days ago. We weren't told about the battle so we had to cope with it anyway, but there were so many injured men! It was even worse than the night your brother's regiment came in (I'm sorry if that was insensitive), we were rushed of our feet! I've never seen Clara so upset - her Danny came in, he's fine but will definitely be home for Christmas. I sort of wished you were there but not at the same time. No one should have to see the horrors of war but you do make me smile and feel a lot better when you are around, also you are a very good nurse and a lot of the soldiers you treat like you._

_How are you (because that is the thing we do, ask each other how we are)? I hope your arms is alright, the village doctor will come round if a few days to check your arm to see how far it's healed. I think it might take another week until it's fully healed but you may have to just to light work after that because the break can actually re-break (is that a word)? That can lead to the bone healing in the wrong way, and that can lead to all sorts of problems! You're sensible so I doubt that would happen. As you are sensible, I need some advice. There was a young German soldier brought in with the rest of our troops. I had to cut up his uniform to operate on him but now the nurses don't know who he is, and they'll find out who he is soon. I'm worried he will be sent to a prisoner of war camp or even be executed, what should I do? Should I help him escape over the border or let the nurses find out and the officials take him away? Please reply, Ellen, I need your help desperately. _

_Anyway, all the best, _

_With regards,_

_From John. _

**I know it has been too long (two weeks is unacceptable) so I will try to update more often, but I make no promises though I am not giving up! I warn you now I will never give up even if this takes years. I know how it will end, and we're sort of getting there! Anyway, reviews are much appreciated (only have two…), please follow and/or favourite so I can send you a cookie! See you at some point next week (hopefully) feel free to PM me so we can talk, also follow me on Tumblr!**


	14. Chapter 14

John was on the ward that morning. The whole hospital was full, and he had been given the task of discharging some of the patients. He was either telling them they were going home, or back to the trenches. John could not see many who were on the 'going home' list. He approached the first soldier on his list.

"Hello there, I'm Dr Smith," John said, giving the man a friendly smile. "You're Private Malcom Burns, if my list is correct?"

"Aye I am, are you here to tell me how long I have to live?"

"No, no! Nothing like that. Quite the opposite in fact, I'm here to tell you that you're going home."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Brilliant. I thought I cannae fight with only one leg! Thanks for that laddie."

John chuckled. "No problem. The nurses will come and get you when the truck is ready to leave for the station."

Many of the reactions John got were like that of Malcom's. John finally felt his spirits lifting a little as he saw the relieved smiles on the men's faces. He hated being in the same place for more than a couple of months at the most and he had been at the CCS over two years. John was more than ready for the war to end, perhaps 1917 would bring the end of it or at least the beginning of the end. He dropped the list on to Dr Turner's desk.

"All discharged sir," John informed him, turning away.

"Dr Smith, come back."

John turned back around. "Yes sir?"

"Have you heard from Nurse Stoker?"

"No sir, I haven't."

"Alright, carry on then Dr," instructed Dr Turner. As John walked away he heard the man mutter, "I'm not surprised."

John balled his fists, resisting the urge to punch the man in the face. _Stop it John, calm down._ He had another issue to deal with and he needed to be calm. The German soldier brought in a few days ago had woken up the day before. He had woken briefly, had something to eat before falling asleep again. John needed to speak to him before anyone found out he was here. The soldier's bed was tucked just around the corner, away from most of the other beds, he had been badly injured so that justified him being away from the others. John could see him from where he was standing. This morning, John had made sure the soldier had been given enough chloroform to knock him out for a few hours. Checking his watch, John counted down in his head. _Any minute now…_ He went and crouched down by his bed.

Seeing the soldier up close, John was reminded of how young he was. He looked to be about eighteen, but there were hard lines on his face, as if they were cracks that dirt had been swept into. There were even a couple of streaks of grey in the boy's thinning auburn hair. He was probably very handsome before the war but now he looked like a shell of what he once had been. The soldier fretted slightly before opening his eyes and blinking a couple of times.

"Was? Wer bist du? Wo bin ich?!" he gabbled.

John hurriedly shushed him. "Shhh, shhh, erm, ruhig sein! Ich will dich nicht erwischt!" the boy stared at John. "Right, better. Was ist deine name?"

"Brandt, Hans Brandt," the boy muttered, shaking slightly.

"Alright. Machst du Englisch sprechen?"

"Ja, ein wenig."

"Good. Hans, can I call you Hans?" Hans nodded. "Right, my name is John Smith, like I said before, I'm not going to hurt you. You are in a hospital behind British lines-,"

"Vhat?! Are you going to kill me?"

"No! In fact, no one even knows you're here apart from me and one of the nurses. I want to get you home, or at least release you back to the German Army. Does that sound like I want to kill you?"

"Nein. Vhy do you vant to help me?"

John studied him for a minute. "Because you're a young boy swept up in a war you barely understand. No one deserves to be forced to fight for a cause they truly don't believe in and in conditions only fit for rats."

"You have seen the trenches?"

"Yes… I've never fought but I've seen them."

"Then you understand."

"Of course, and I promise I will get you out of here."

* * *

><p>Ellen had been up all night thinking about the letter. She had tried to push it to the back of her mind for the day, but it kept popping up at the most annoying times. In the end, she had decided to run an errand for her Father, and walk all the way to Manor Farm which was two miles away from Gower. The message had been something about wheat rationing, though Ellen had not taken much notice of what her Father was saying to her when he handed her the letter for the farmer. Her mind was preoccupied as she had trekked over the crisp and crunchy fields back to Gower, her breath condensed and rose into the sky like her thoughts.<p>

Now, she was sitting alone in her silent room, trying desperately to think of what to write back to John. Ellen did not want the boy to be taken into a prisoner of war camp, nor did she want to put John in danger by trying to get the boy home. If John was caught, he would be branded a traitor and shot at dawn. Ellen did not want his blood on her hands – she felt affection for John like she had never felt for anyone before. It was an odd feeling, he made her feel fuzzy and warm like you were excited for your presents on Christmas Eve and sitting in front of a warm fire at the same time. _What if John exchanged the boy for prisoners in German prisoner of war camps?_ Ellen looked up suddenly, she grabbed a piece of paper and hastily scrawled a note to John.

_Dear John, _

_Thank you for your letter, it resolved a lot of confused feelings I had. I am very well and am coping with life here in the village, though it is not as… fulfilling as working in the CCS. Please send Amy and Clara my love and tell them I will attend all the dances they want me to when I am back. _

_Though, onto the matter at hand. I am not sure what to do, obviously, I am not inclined to solving problems over German soldiers but I have an idea though it might not work and the more powerful military men will need to be informed. What if you told the staff about the boy, but proposed that they boy and other soldiers could be exchanged for Entente prisoners? I know that may not work, but what have you got to lose? Though it could put the boy into a camp anyway if that did not work. Wait for me to come back before you say anything to anyone, I think that will be in a few weeks but if you have anything urgent to tell me, you can send a telegram to the post office in Gower and I'll get it very quickly. _

_Apart from the boy, I hope all is well (or as well as can be) and I hope to hear from you soon. _

_Best wishes,_

_From Ellen. _

Weak sunshine was peeking through the curtains as Ellen finished the letter. She signed it, then rummaged around in her draw to find an envelope. She wrote the CCS's address on it, folded the letter up and stuffed it inside. It was then sealed and stamped. Ellen stood up and grabbed her coat and boots – there had been more snow during the night so she anticipated a cold and bitter walk through the snow to the bottom of the hill.

Ellen snuck down the stairs, opened the front door and was greeted by a strong whoosh of frigid air. Taking a deep breath, she set off into the early morning sunshine.

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><p><strong>Hello! I'm a bit quicker this week! I hope you have enjoyed this chapter (sorry its not that long) and will review, favourite andor follow so I can send you a cookie!**


	15. Chapter 15

The cosy warmth of the bakery was a welcome reception as Ellen kicked off the excess snow that had stuck to her boots. The smell of baking pastries and bread wafted around her, tempting her appetite and making her mouth water. _Typical, I set off without breakfast._ Stephen came out of the kitchen, his hair sticking in different directions and his hands and face smudged with flour. Allan followed her father with a tray of wholemeal loaves, limping slightly.

"Morning Ellen," he said, addressing her in his usual cheery manner.

"Good morning Allan, good morning Dad," Ellen replied, addressing both of them. "How are you?"

"Fine thank you, daughter," Stephen said, with mock strictness.

Allan flashed her a grin. "Fine thanks Ellen, though the leg is acting up a bit. I don't think I screwed it on tight enough this morning."

"Well we don't want your leg falling off!"

"That would be a sight," muttered Stephen, filling a basket with loaves. "Anyway, where did you rush off to this morning at some ungodly hour?"

_Oh no, here comes the interrogation._ "Just down to the post box," Ellen responded, vaguely.

"Were you sending a letter?"

"Nothing gets past you, Sherlock."

"Oi, cheeky that's no way to talk to your father," interjected Allan, trying not to laugh.

Stephen stuck his nose in the air. "Quite right Allan," he drawled in a mock posh English accent. "You weren't sending a love letter, were you?"

"No!"

"So you have admirers in Ypres?" chuckled Allan.

"No! I was just writing to one of the doctors!"

"That confirms it! I'm telling Sam," declared Allan, limping out to find Sam.

Ellen glared at her Father. "I know what you're going to say," giggled Stephen. "Ohhhh Daaaaad, you're so embarrassing!"

"Stop it!"

"Daaaaaad you're so mean!"

Ellen vaulted over the counter and preceded to tickle her Father as hard as humanly possible. He hunched over laughing, and tried to fend off her attacks but with no avail.

"Stop it Ellen, stop it," he wheezed.

"Now who's telling who to 'stop it'?"

"Fine you win. I didn't realize you could tickle that hard with only one arm."

Ellen shrugged. "It's easier when you've had years to practise on your annoying older brother."

"Fair enough, come on, I've got another errand for you to run."

* * *

><p>It had been a couple of days since John had sent the letter out to Ellen. He hoped she would reply soon. It had, so far, been easy to stop anyone finding out the boy was in the CCS as he had been asleep most of the time. All the wards had been relatively quiet, so John had had time to make some discrete enquiries about the battle and where Hans might have come from. At the moment John's plan was to send Hans over the border into Germany but that posed a problem: if Hans returned home, he could be seen as a deserter and be shot for deserting the German Army – it was also standard in the British Army too, as was being shot for being a traitor. <em>I'm not getting him better, just so he can be shot by the Germans for being a deserter, I will not let that happen<em>.

John leant over his papers again, but the words swam in front of him, not making any sense what so ever. _I need a break_. He pushed his chair back, got up, and walked out into the courtyard. Night had begun to fall and the dusky orange sky was giving way to the dark grey clouds that swarmed above his head. John drew in a deep breath, letting his lungs fill with the chilly air, waking his senses and pulling him out of his sleepy stupor. He watched the door to the main ward open, and Amy march out of it.

"Oi," she called. "I've got a letter for you!"

John walked over. "Oh, who from?"

"No idea. Read it and find out."

"Where is it?"

"Staff Room, come and have a cup of tea. We've barely seen you all week."

John hesitated. "Fine, but I need to get back to work. Five minutes, no more."

"Fine, fine, come on."

John followed Amy until they reached the Staff Room, he went to open the door for her, but she brushed his hand away, muttering,

"I can open a door by myself."

He supressed a smile. "Hi John," Clara greeted him, as he strode in. "Tea?"

"Please. How's Danny?" John asked, sitting down by the table.

Clara paused as she was making the tea. "Fine I guess. It could have been a lot worse, took a bullet to the thigh."

"That sounds painful, though I think he must have been lucky."

"Oh undoubtedly," she replied, setting John's tea down in front of him. "You look tired."

She sat down opposite him. "Oh, you know, paperwork, all that boring stuff."

"You work too hard," Amy chipped in, handing him the letter. "One letter."

John took it. "Thank you, I'll read it later."

"So, we have barely seen you the past few days. What have you been doing?" enquired Clara.

"I said, paperwork."

"Yeah, because John Smith spends his time doing paperwork," muttered Amy, rolling her eyes. "I think you've been drafting a letter to Ellen to properly tell her you like her."

"What?!" shrieked Clara, sloshing her tea everywhere.

"Clara, calm down," hushed Amy, giggling.

"I knew it, I knew it!"

"Stop it! I _do not _like Ellen!"

Amy and Clara exchanged a look. "Then why did you kiss her before you left Calais?"

"Amy, you told her!"

"Of course I did, I'm a girl, its what we do."

John stood and picked his tea up. "Well even if I do like her, I wouldn't tell you two!"

"Why not?" Clara asked, innocently.

"Because I would never hear the end of it!"

"Well not unless you actually asked her out…" sang Amy.

John blushed a deep shade of magenta. He turned and walked out of the room before either of them could say any more on the subject. Returning to his room, John groaned as he saw the pile of papers on his desk. _Maybe an evening of being teased by Amy and Clara could be better than this_…

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><p><strong>I am so sorry this has taken so long, but I have the feeling this may be the case for the next couple of weeks (I have mock exams that week after next, so please don't kill me)! After that its half term, so hopefully I can post a couple of chapters that week to make up for how short (and bad) this one is. All reviews, follows andor favourites are welcome so I can send you a cookie!**


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